


What Could Have Been

by Obsessionist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Family, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Temporary Character Death, Universe Alteration, also hell, dean/cas friendship - Freeform, maybe more than one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-25
Updated: 2016-04-19
Packaged: 2018-05-23 04:20:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 34
Words: 75,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6104734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Obsessionist/pseuds/Obsessionist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Mary had listened to Dean's warning to stay in bed? This is the story of what could have been if young Dean had been the one to walk into Sam's nursery that night...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_November 2, 1983_

 

The night light in the nursery flickered.

 

The clock stopped.

 

With every occupant of the house asleep, all was still and silent. It was time.

 

A stranger with yellow eyes stepped out from the shadows and moved to stand over the crib. He looked down at the sleeping infant, contemplating the future this child could have, the great honour that awaited him should he be the one that was Chosen. The baby was so weak, so helplessly human, but he was here to change that.

 

"Wakey, wakey, Sam," he crooned.

 

Blinking bleary eyes open to see to an unfamiliar face looming over him in the darkness, little Sammy started to cry.

 

Across the hall in his parents' bedroom, his cries could be heard through the baby monitor. His mother woke easily, accustomed to having her rest disrupted, and had almost resigned herself to getting out of bed when she remembered what day it was.

 

November 2nd. She knew the date because Sammy was born on May 2nd and that meant he was six months old today. It was a milestone, and she couldn't believe her little boy was growing up so fast.

 

But it was November 2nd, _1983_ , and Mary had been marking that date in her calendar for 10 years.

Ever since a mysterious young hunter, who claimed his father was a psychic, had given her a warning. He told her, when this day came, not to get out of bed no matter what she might hear or see.

 

It was crazy to listen to the supposedly prophetic word of a man she didn't even know. He had turned up out of the blue and calamity had struck her family soon after. Her parents were murdered and she nearly lost John as well. The stranger had been there for the worst day of her life and then she never saw him again. But there was something about him, something strangely familiar like a half-remembered dream, something in his eyes that make her trust him inexplicably. He had given her the warning knowing it would sounds nuts, and she might have dismissed it if it had not been for the tears glistening in his eyes. He looked as though he genuinely cared about her and didn't want her to get hurt.

 

Even so, 10 years was a long time. She might have forgotten about the obscure warning from a stranger. But she could never forget that this year was the 10 year anniversary of the demon deal she had made to save John's life. Put two and two together and Mary had every reason to believe her life, her _soul_ , was in danger.

 

She wished she could put protective salt lines along every door and window, but that would be welching out on the deal. If she didn’t keep her end of the bargain, John would drop dead. She would rather die herself than lose him.

 

Mary just hoped that the demon had been telling the truth; that no one would get hurt as long as he was uninterrupted in whatever he was coming here to do.

 

She knew she couldn’t trust a demon. But she had no other choice.

 

So she stayed in bed, and prayed that angels were watching over her family.

 

Sammy kept crying.

 

Normally, the baby's cries did not disturb his older brother. Four-year-old Dean had been distressed by them at first, but his mom had explained that little babies needed to eat more often than big kids did and crying during the night was just Sammy's way of saying he was hungry. She told Dean she would take care of it and he could just turn over and go back to sleep. He was used to it now; he would listen for the sound of a door opening and his mother's soft footsteps across the landing, and he would smile and drift off again because he knew Sammy was being looked after.

 

But this time he never heard his mom get up, and Sammy kept crying.

 

He tossed and turned restlessly, not quite conscious but unable to go back to sleep either. An odd twisty feeling in his tummy was telling him that something was wrong.

 

Eventually his big brother instincts won out over his sleepiness and Dean tumbled out of bed to go see what all the fuss was about.

 

Out in the hallway, Dean could hear noises coming from the TV downstairs and guessed that his parents were watching a not-for-kids movie together. Maybe that's why they couldn't hear Sammy. He thought about going to get them, but Mom said he was a good little helper and he wanted to prove her right. He could go in and sing ‘Hey Jude’ to Sammy until he stopped crying. Mom would be so proud of him.

 

He pushed open the door to the nursery and was startled to see that his Dad was already in there.

 

"Oops," Dean said. He knew he was about to get in trouble for being out of bed this late.

 

His Dad turned around to tell him to go back to his room-

 

-but it wasn’t his Dad.

 

Dean stepped back in alarm. “Who are you?”

 

The man smiled. It wasn’t a nice smile. “Howdy, Dean. Good to see you again.”

 

“I don’t know you.”

 

“Oh, we go way back, you and I.”

 

Dean didn’t believe him, but sometimes Mommy said he didn’t remember people because he was only little when he met them. “Why you in here?”

 

“Your mommy invited me.”

 

Dean frowned. His mom never said anything about having a visitor over, and he didn’t think she would let this man go into Sammy’s nursery when he was sleeping. Besides, he didn’t like the way the man was smiling at him. It was scary.

 

“I’m gonna get Daddy,” Dean said, backing away with every intention of running downstairs. But then he glanced towards the crib and knew he couldn’t leave Sammy alone with the scary man who – who had a _knife_ glinting in his pocket.

 

Dean sucked in a deep lungful of air to scream-

 

-but all the breath was knocked out of him as an invisible force jerked him across the room and slammed him against the wall.

 

“Sorry, Dean, I’m afraid I can’t let you do that.”

 

Dean fought to get free but the invisible force was too strong, and he was sliding upwards, the floor getting further and further away. He didn’t like heights. He tried to scream again, but no sound came out.

 

“Stay put, kid,” the man said. “I’ll deal with you once I’m done with little Sammy here.”

 

Although Dean struggled frantically, there was nothing he could do as the man pulled out the knife. He knew he was supposed to be a big boy now but he couldn’t help the frightened tears that welled up in his eyes. He didn’t want Sammy to be hurt. Sammy was just a baby, he needed his big brother to protect him, but Dean _couldn’t_. He wanted his Daddy to burst into the room and save the day, but Daddy wasn’t coming because he didn’t know there was a bad man here and Dean was still screaming as loud as he could but no one could hear him.

 

The man dragged the knife over his own arm, drawing blood. Dean didn’t understand why the man would hurt himself like that, or why he was holding his arm out over the crib to let the blood drip into Sammy’s mouth. He tried to tell Sammy not to drink it, but his words weren’t working and the baby swallowed the red juice because he was only little and he didn’t know better.

 

“There now. You grow up big and strong, Sammy Winchester. When you’re ready, I’ll be back to get you. Big plans for you, kiddo. Big plans.”

 

Dean didn’t know what the man meant but he didn’t like it. He tried to scream at the bad man to leave his brother alone, but the bad man had magic powers that had stuck him to the wall and stolen his voice. He couldn’t move, or speak, or doing anything. He was trapped. Helpless.

 

The man turned to look at him. Dean was so high up the wall now that he could look directly into the bad man’s eyes.

 

They were _yellow._

 

“Now, what am I to do with you, Dean? I can’t have you blabbing to mommy about what you’ve seen, and I can’t let you grow up to be the one who kills me. Of course, you don’t look like much of a threat now, but better safe than sorry.” He walked closer, raising the knife. Dean tried to kick, wriggle, spit, anything, but his body wouldn’t listen, and the man kept coming.

 

“Die slow, little one.”

 

The knife ripped into Dean’s stomach, and Dean’s soul _screamed._

 

He barely felt the sensation of being dragged further up the wall and onto the ceiling; all he knew was pain, excruciating, all-encompassing pain – and Sammy. Because Sammy was staring up at him, reaching tiny hands out to his brother like this was a game, and Dean’s blood was going to drip down on him and Sammy was going to watch him die.

 

 _Help_ , Dean whimpered soundlessly.

 

“Goodbye, Dean,” Yellow-eyes said.

 

He snapped his fingers and as he vanished the ceiling burst into flames.

 

In that instant, as the heat pressed in on him from all sides, Dean knew that his mom was wrong. There were no angels watching over him.

 

He closed his eyes and waited for the fire to swallow him.

 

But instead of feeling his body burn up like the turkey Mom had left in the oven too long last Thanksgiving, he felt the unmistakable and no less terrifying sensation of falling, like the ceiling had suddenly decided to let him go. He winced, bracing for the impact that would break him all to pieces.

 

Strong arms caught him.

 

_Saved._

 

"Daddy," Dean gasped, knowing that his hero had to be his Dad.

 

The terror of his ordeal combined with intense relief from his last-second rescue were suddenly too much for him to handle; Dean buried his face in his Dad's chest and burst into tears. "My tummy _hurts_ , Daddy..."

 

"I am not your father," a low voice rumbled.

 

Dean froze, breath hitching in his throat. Had the yellow-eyed man come back? Was he going to die after all?

 

"Do not be afraid. You are safe now.”

 

It didn't sound like the bad man. This voice was deeper, rougher, but it didn’t make his skin crawl with hundreds of slimy ants like the bad man’s had. It was almost… soothing.

 

“Who- who are you?” he stammered against the stranger’s shirt, too scared to look at the man directly. He didn’t want to see another monster.

 

"I'm an Angel of the Lord."

 

“A _angel?”_ Dean yelped, not sure he could believe it. But he risked a glance up anyway.

 

Blue eyes stared back at him.

 

"Hello Dean."

 

He knew that the polite response would be to say 'hello' back, but his curiosity got the better of him. Brow furrowed in confusion as he looked his saviour up and down, he asked, "If you're a angel, how come you don't got wings or a halo or a funny dress?" He knew what angels were supposed to look like – he had a statue of one in his room – and this man with messy brown hair, a backwards tie and a big coat did not look anything like an angel.

 

"Humans have many misperceptions about my kind," the man answered.

 

Dean blinked at him.

 

He sighed. "Of course. Dean Winchester does not believe in anything without proof. But if I were not who I claimed to be, I would not be able to hold the demon's inferno at bay.”

 

Dean’s gaze flicked up to the ceiling and he saw that the flames had stopped moving, like they had been frozen in place.

 

“Nor would I be able to heal you." The man placed a hand gently over Dean's stomach and with a bright flash of light the pain from his injury was gone.

 

Dean pulled up his t-shirt. The knife had ripped apart his tummy and spilt a lot of blood from inside, but there wasn’t even a scar. He was all better.

 

Filled with awe, he looked back up at the angel who had fixed him without a Band-Aid. It was _definitely_ an angel. Mommy was right after all. “Thanks Mr Angel.”

 

For the first time, the angel’s face softened into the faintest hint of a smile. “My name is Castiel.”

 

“C-Ca-Casti – uh-” It was a tricky word and Dean couldn’t quite get his tongue around it. “-Cas?”

 

“If you prefer.”

 

Dean grinned and hugged his new friend, wrapping his little arms around as much of the angel as he could reach. “Thanks, Cas.”

 

Cas didn’t return the hug, but inclined his head solemnly. “You are welcome.”

 

Movement overhead caught Dean’s attention. A flame had twitched, like it was trying to wriggle free from the power keeping it trapped. “Uh, Cas…?”

 

The angel looked up. “I cannot maintain this bubble of suspended time much longer. We should not linger here.”

 

“It’s gonna splode?”

 

“An explosion is highly probable, yes. I will take you somewhere safe-”

 

“No, wait!” Dean squirmed to be put down. “Sammy!” He ran over to the crib, relieved to see that his little brother was okay. He was staring up at the slow-moving fire like it was a mobile for him to play with; he wasn’t old enough yet to know that fire was dangerous. Dean leaned in and tried to pick Sammy up but he wasn’t strong enough.

 

The angel’s arms reached past him and scooped up the bundle of baby and blanket before setting Sam carefully in Dean’s arms.

 

“You wanted to save your family,” Cas said. “This is your chance. Once you leave the bubble you will not have long; you must make haste.”

 

Dean nodded, cuddling his baby brother close.

 

“Your mother is in her room. Your father is downstairs. Go now, Dean.”

 

Dean ran. Behind him the fire roared to life, engulfing the ceiling of Sammy’s nursery. The angel vanished.

 

“Mommy!” Dean screamed, bursting into his parents’ bedroom.

 

His mom sat up. “Dean, what-?”

 

“Fire!” The smoke alarm started blaring. “We gotta go!”

 

For a second his mom didn’t move. “Dean, I can’t-”

 

“It’s gonna _splode!_ ” Dean yelled. “Hurry! I don’t wanna burn up, Mommy, come on!”

 

“Okay, Dean. Okay.”

 

Once he was sure she was following, Dean ran out into the hallway and down the stairs. Dad was half-way up them; he must have woken up when the alarm went off.

 

“Run, Daddy!”

 

“What’s going on? Mary?”

 

“Fire!” Dean yelled over his shoulder, rushing out the front door and onto the lawn. His parents ran out after him.

 

“Dean, what-?”

 

“Sam’s nursery,” Mom gasped, pointing up at the house.

 

Dean glanced back to the burning room, but Dad snagged Mom’s arm to get her moving again and then scooped both of his sons into his arms. The Winchesters ran for their lives.

 

The house exploded.

 

ooOOoo


	2. Chapter 2

It took the fire brigade three hours to douse the flames that had engulfed their house and by then there wasn’t much left.

 

The Winchesters huddled together in the street, surrounded by sirens and fire trucks and curious onlookers, staring at the ashes of their home.

 

“We… we’ve lost everything,” Mary whispered.

 

John shook his head, looking down at the boys he still had cradled protectively in his arms. “No. We didn’t lose our children or each other, and that’s all that matters. Everything else can be replaced.”

 

Mary pulled her gaze away from the ruins of her normal, safe life, and focused on her family. They were okay. They were safe. That was what was important. “You’re right.”

 

She reached out to take her baby from Dean’s arms, needing the reassurance that the fire in Sam’s nursery had not stolen her youngest child from her. It had been close, too close, and if anything had happened to him she would never have been able to forgive herself.

 

But when Dean let go of his little brother, Mary caught sight of his pyjama shirt.

 

It was covered in blood.

 

“Dean! John, he’s bleeding!”

 

“No, Mommy-”

 

John quickly laid Dean out on the asphalt. “Oh my god. Oh my god-” He pulled up the shirt and Mary braced herself for the sight of a deadly injury-

 

But there was nothing.

 

“Dad, I’m-”

 

John didn’t listen, checking every inch of Dean for the source of the bleeding.

 

“Nothing,” he reported. “Mary, is it Sam?”

 

Almost choking with terror, she checked on her baby. But aside from a red smudge at the corner of his mouth he was fine, too.

 

“What happened?” John demanded. “Dean, are you okay, son? What happened?”

 

“I’m fine, Daddy,” Dean replied calmly, sitting up. “The angel fixed me.”

 

“What?”

 

“The bad man stabbed my tummy with his big ugly knife but the angel fixed me all up,” Dean said, as if that explained everything.

 

“Bad man? Knife? Angel? Dean, what are you talking about? What has this got to do with the fire? How did you know about the fire before we did? Dean-”

 

Dean drew in a big breath. “Sammy was crying. Mommy didn’t get up so I getted up to check on Sammy and sing ‘Hey Jude’ for him, but Daddy was already in there, but it _wasn’t_ Daddy it was the bad man, and he said you let him in Mommy but I didn’t think so and then I saw he had a knife in his pocket and I thought he was gonna hurt Sammy so I was gonna scream, but then he stuck me to the wall and my words stopped working and he didn’t cut Sammy he cut his arm because Sammy was thirsty, and then he said he didn’t want me to kill him so he stabbed me and it _hurt_ , like worse than a bad ouchie on my knee, and then he put me on the ceiling and he set it on fire to burn me up, but when he left my angel came. He getted me down and froze the fire and fixed my tummy, but the fire unfroze so he gave me Sammy and we runned out here and the house sploded.”

 

Mary and John looked at each other, and then back at their son. “What?”

 

Dean looked on the verge of spouting out the entire story again, so John held up a hand to stop him.

 

“Dean, you’re saying… there was a bad man in Sam’s nursery? And he lit the fire deliberately?”

 

“Uh huh. With his magic powers.”

 

“Magic?”

 

“Bad magic,” Dean confirmed.

 

“Like, a lighter, or…?”

 

“No, Daddy, I know a lighter isn’t magic. It was _real_ magic. He stuck me to the wall without any glue and made me stop talking without covering my mouth and made the fire start without any matches and then poof! He was gone. _It was magic._ ”

 

John did not look convinced. “What did this ‘bad man’ look like?”

 

“He was tall and had a not-nice smile and he was wearing a big black coat.”

 

“Right…”

 

“Oh, and he had yellow eyes.”

 

Mary gasped.

 

John looked at her. “Mary, you’re not believing any of this, are you? I mean, magic? Yellow eyes?” He huffed a disbelieving laugh and shook his head. “The crazy things kids will come up with.”

 

“It was real!” Dean protested.

 

“No, Dean. If you don’t know what happened you don’t just make up a story. That’s called lying.”

 

“But I didn’t make it up! There really was a bad man and there really was an angel! He saved me!”

 

“Come on, now, Dean. There are no such things as angels.”

 

“John-”

 

“No, Mary, we have obviously been filling his head with too much nonsense. It is time he learned what is real and what isn’t.”

 

“My angel is real!”

 

“Tell the truth, Dean Winchester.”

 

Dean’s eyes filled with tears. “I am!”

 

John crouched down to his level. “Dean. Did you light the fire?”

 

“No!”

 

“Was it an accident? I’m not mad, Dean, I just want to know what happened.”

 

“I didn’t do it, Daddy. It wasn’t me! It wasn’t!”

 

“Okay, Dean. Okay.” John sighed and stood up.  “Maybe it was an electrical short in the walls or something. I’m going to go talk to one of the fire fighters, see if they can find out what happened.”

 

Dean watched his father go with frustrated tears spilling down his cheeks. “Why won’t he believe me, Mommy? You believe me, don’t you?”

 

Mary thought about everything that Dean had told them. The ‘bad man’ with yellow eyes had to be the same demon that she had made the deal with 10 years ago. He had come by her house, just as he promised he would, and whatever he had been planning to do it had something to do with Sammy. Dean had interrupted him, and the demon had tried to kill him. That blood on his pyjama shirt probably was real blood, and the only reason he was alive right now was because… an angel had answered her prayers? She didn’t know for sure, but yes, she believed him.

 

She couldn’t tell him that, though.

 

She had left the hunting life. She didn’t want anything to do with it. She didn’t want John to find out about her past, and she didn’t want her little boy to know that monsters were real. Dean was only four years old. If they told him often enough that he had imagined the whole thing, eventually he would come to believe it. His innocence would remain intact, and he would stay far, far away from the hunting life.

 

“I think you had a nightmare,” she said softly, trying to ignore the pang of guilt in her chest when she saw the look of betrayal in her child’s eyes. “But it was just a bad dream, okay, honey? You’re okay. Everything is alright.”

 

Dean’s voice took on a hysterical pitch. “It _wasn’t_ a _dream_!”

 

“You’re tired, Dean. Come on. We’ll find a motel to stay in tonight and get some rest. It will all be better in the morning.”

 

Dean threw a screaming, sobbing tantrum, and Mary just stood there, letting him work it out of his system. Then she gathered him into her arms, murmuring soothing words into his ear. “Hush now, Dean. Settle down, honey. It’s okay.”

 

Dean’s eyes were red from crying, but when Sammy reached out a small hand to grab his nose he gave his little brother a watery smile and snuggled up alongside him.

 

Her sons fell asleep in her arms.

 

“I’m sorry, Dean,” she whispered.

 

Mary cuddled her children close and turned away from the crowd so no one would see her cry.

 

ooOOoo

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

_December 24 th, 1983_

 

“Are you going to help me put the angel on top of the Christmas tree, Dean?”

 

Dean frowned sceptically at the ornament his Dad was holding. “That’s not an angel.”

 

“Sure it is.”

 

Dean shook his head. “No. Angels don’t wear dresses.”

 

“Dean-”

 

“I _saw_ one, Daddy! And he would look silly in a dress.”

 

“Dean, we’ve talked about this. You were dreaming, alright, son? You didn’t really see an angel.”

 

Dean scowled, folding his arms. “Did too!”

 

“Dean, how many times-?”

 

“John, don’t upset him,” Mom interrupted, coming into the room with a freshly changed Sammy on her hip. “How about we just put a star on the top of the tree this year instead?”

 

Dean nodded and Daddy sighed, putting the angel back in its box. He pulled out a star and offered it to his son. “So you gonna help me or what? It’s too high for me to reach by myself. I need my super helper.”

 

Dean smiled and ran into his Daddy’s arms. Dad hoisted him up onto his shoulders and Dean stretched his arms out to carefully set the star in its place. “Did it, Daddy!”

 

“Good job, kiddo.” They backed away from the tree and admired their handiwork. Lights and baubles and streamers and decorations Dean had made out of paper and glue and glitter were jumbled all together in a mess of colour.

 

“It looks beautiful,” Mom said and Sammy gurgled his agreement.

 

Dean beamed with pride.

 

“It’s nearly bedtime, Dean,” Mom told him. “Remember we have to go to sleep early so Santa can bring your presents.”

 

“Jake next door says Santa’s not real,” Dean said.

 

“You believe the word of an eight year old and not your own father’s?” Dad muttered.

 

Mom shot him a warning look, but offered her son a smile. “But we baked him cookies, Dean. Remember you helped me cut out all the star shapes and put icing on the top? Who’s going to eat them now?”

 

Dean pondered the problem, and then his face lit up. “My angel! I bet he likes cookies. Maybe if we leave them out for him he will come back to visit me!”

 

“Alright, well why don’t you go choose the best ones to put on a plate for him?”

 

“I’ll get milk, too!”

 

“Good idea.”

 

Dad put Dean down and he ran off into the kitchen.

 

Behind him, he could hear his parents talking in low voices.

 

“It has been almost two months, Mary. We moved house, I started my own mechanic business – we left our old life behind us so we could start afresh. But Dean is still fixated on that night and his make-believe story of what happened. Why won’t he let this go?”

 

“It comforts him, John. He watched our home burn down. Believing that he has an angel watching over him probably makes him feel safer.”

 

“But there is no such thing.”

 

“Well, we were happy for him to believe in Santa Claus. Why is this any different?”

 

“Every kid believes in Santa.”

 

“And they grow out of it. I’m sure Dean will too. Just give it time.”

 

Dean chose the cookie stars with the blue icing because they reminded him of his angel’s eyes, and he put them on his plastic superman plate because his angel was a super hero too. He poured some milk into a glass and then carefully carried both out into the lounge room.

 

“Shall we put them on the mantelpiece above the fireplace?” Mom suggested.

 

Dean eyed the fireplace and then gave it a wide berth, deliberately putting the milk and cookies on the table across the other side of the room. “He won’t come through there. He doesn’t need to. He just appears where he wants to.”

 

“Well that’s one good thing, anyway. It is forecast to be a cold one tomorrow; it will be nice to have a fire burning,” Dad said. “We could even make s’mores, how does that sound, Dean?”

 

Wide-eyed, Dean frantically shook his head. “No, Daddy, no fire! Fire is bad.”

 

“Dean, it will stay inside the fireplace. It won’t hurt us.”

 

“But the bad man will make it burn us all up! No fire!”

 

Daddy sighed. “Okay, little man. No fire.”

 

Dean relaxed a little and focused on neatening the cookies on the plate. He wanted everything to be perfect for his angel.

 

“Alright, Dean, bedtime. Off you go.”

 

“Tuck me in, Mommy?” Dean asked hopefully.

 

She passed Sammy over to Dad and ruffled Dean’s hair. “Of course.”

 

After giving Sammy and Daddy a goodnight cuddle, brushing his teeth and changing into his new pyjamas, Dean clambered into his bed and snuggled under the covers. Mom tucked him in and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead. “Goodnight, love.”

 

She moved to turn off the light but Dean caught her hand, tugging her back.

 

“Mommy, you forgot to say that angels are watching over me.”

 

Mom just squeezed his hand and gave him a soft, sad smile. “Sweet dreams, Dean.”

 

She closed the door behind her.

 

After a few minutes Dean climbed out of bed and pressed his ear against the crack of the door, listening for his parents.

 

It took a long time but he was patient. When he was sure everyone had gone to bed he snuck back downstairs. There were presents under the tree already, wrapped up in bright red and green paper and all tied up with string. He knew most of them were for him and Sammy, but he didn’t want to ruin the surprise for tomorrow. He had come down here for another reason.

 

Quietly, he dug through the box of leftover decorations until he found the silly angel ornament. Tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth as he concentrated, he used a blue marker to make the angel’s eyes the right colour and to draw the proper clothes over the dress. With squiggles and lines to represent the tie and suit and coat, Dean placed the finished product on the table next to the cookies.

 

He folded his hands together and closed his eyes.

 

“Mr Angel? Cas? Um, Happy Christmas. We made you some cookies. I hope you like them. I gave you the ones with the most icing ‘cause that’s the best bit.”

 

He snuck a peek around the room, but the angel wasn’t there yet so he closed his eyes tighter.

 

“Do you know how to find our new house? ‘Cause we moved from the one that the bad man burned down but not too far. I hope you can find your way here. I know you can fly super-fast like Superman, so if you’re not too busy will you come and visit?”

 

He sneaked another look. The room was still empty.

 

“Cas?” He was a little more uncertain this time, not sure that the angel could even hear him. He had prayed lots of times since the fire but his angel never showed. “I miss you. Aren’t you my friend anymore? Did I do something wrong?”

 

He felt tears prickling behind his eyelids but brushed them angrily away.

 

“Daddy says you’re not real. But I saw you. You saved me from the bad man. And I know you’re looking after me, even if I can’t see you. But I’d like to see you.”

 

He chanced one last look. His shoulders slumped.

 

“Okay, I get it. You won’t come until I’m in bed. I’m going. I hope you like the cookies.”

 

He dragged himself slowly up the staircase, still looking back in hopes of seeing his angel appear to try Mom’s cookies and drink the milk he had left out for him.

 

But when he woke up the next morning, they were still there.

 

ooOOoo


	4. Chapter 4

 

_October, 1984_

 

“Thank you for coming in, Mr and Mrs Winchester.”

 

Mary offered a smile she didn’t feel to the Kindergarten teacher. “Please, Miss Dawson, call us Mary and John.”

 

She shook their hands respectively. “Of course, Mary. I’m Hannah. Please, take a seat.”

 

John sat stiffly on the edge of his chair, his back ramrod straight, as though he had slipped back into his Marine persona in preparation for a fight. Mary could relate. Every protective instinct within her had awoken when Dean’s teacher had called them in for this meeting. School had started little over a month ago; they wouldn’t be sitting here unless something was wrong.

 

“What is this about, Hannah?” Mary asked.

 

The teacher put on a bright smile. “I would like to start off by saying that your son is a delight to teach. Dean is very clever and is always eager to learn new things. He also loves to share what he knows with his classmates – I heard him telling the other boys what the names of the different toy cars were during indoor play last week.”

 

“I’m a mechanic, so Dean has grown up around cars,” John explained. “He could probably tell you all the different parts of the engine, too, if you asked him. But that is not why you called us here. Please get to the point, Miss Dawson.”

 

“Well, I have a few… concerns that I would like to discuss with you, if that’s alright?”

 

Mary nodded wordlessly.

 

“I couldn’t help but notice that Dean always seems very tired when he comes to Kinder. He won’t sleep during relaxation time but his eyes droop and he tends to become lethargic by the end of the day. Five year olds should be getting between 8 and 12 hours of sleep every night…”

 

“He goes to bed at 7:30pm and usually gets up around 6 so he can spend some time with me in the garage,” John said. “That is ten and a half hours of sleep.”

 

“And he is sleeping through the night?”

 

“Well… not always,” Mary admitted. “He has nightmares.”

 

“How often?”

 

“I’m… not sure. We hear him cry out some times, but he doesn’t come into our room and he doesn’t seem to remember his dreams in the morning.”

 

“Are you sure about that?”

 

John bristled. “What is that supposed to mean?”

 

Hannah reached into her desk and pulled out a sheaf of papers. “Dean spends a lot of his time drawing. His pictures are quite advanced for his age, but some of the things he draws are – well, see for yourself.”

 

She handed over the stack of crayon drawings. Mary sifted through them and with each new page her heart climbed further into her throat.

 

Yellow eyes.

 

An arm dripping blood.

 

Fire.

 

Those she could understand, but the others…

 

A decapitated head with fangs instead of teeth.

 

A fire burning in a dug-up grave.

 

A black dog.

 

A werewolf.

 

A wendigo.

 

A rawhead.

 

Supernatural creatures drawn in eerily accurate detail that her child should not know anything about.

 

“Dean has an active imagination,” John said.

 

“Has he been exposed to scary books and movies that could be feeding his ‘imagination’?”

 

“No. He watches cartoons and Disney movies.” Mary had tried to keep her children away from monsters of any form, even fictional ones.

 

“I’m not trying to accuse you of anything,” Hannah said. “I’m just trying to understand. I’ve asked Dean about his drawings but he won’t say anything about them; he just keeps drawing these disturbing images. If it isn’t make-believe monsters or people with yellow eyes, it is fire.”

 

Mary looked down at the picture in her lap that had been sifted to the top of the pile. A man stood out on the street with a baby in his arms and a small boy at his side, staring at a house engulfed by flames. A woman with yellow hair was standing in the midst of the fire, burning.

 

Dean had drawn the night of the fire. But in this picture Mary had clearly not made it out in time. He had drawn her dying.

 

She remembered this actually. That night they had slept in a motel because they had nowhere else to go. They were all exhausted, but Dean had started screaming in his sleep at 4am. His first nightmare. Mary had woken him up and he burst into tears at the sight of her, throwing himself into her arms and gripping her tight like he was afraid that if he let go she would vanish. When she was finally able to get coherent words from him he had said he thought the bad man had burned her all up on the ceiling of Sammy’s nursery.

 

John had told him there was no bad man and Mary had assured him that she was fine. Dean calmed down eventually and never mentioned it again, but she always knew when he had a repeat of that nightmare because he would be especially clingy the next day, refusing to let her out of his sight.

 

He stopped coming to his parents for comfort from bad dreams, though. If she went in to check on him during the night he would turn over and pretend he was sleeping. John thought he was learning resilience. Mary feared he didn’t trust them anymore.

 

“Look, Miss Dawson,” John said, “I’ll have a word with Dean about his pictures, see if he can’t try drawing sunshine and rainbows instead.”

 

“That isn’t my point. I am just concerned for Dean’s emotional wellbeing.”

 

Mary sighed. “Hannah… you should probably know that our house burned down last year. We don’t know what happened, exactly, but it started in our baby’s nursery and Dean was the one to carry Sammy out of there. He saved his little brother – us, too, actually – but it was still a very upsetting experience for him as you can imagine.”

 

“I see,” Hannah said softly. “Poor thing.”

 

“He’s doing fine, though,” John said. “He’s tough for a little tyke.”

 

“I think the trauma is affecting him more than you realise. Have you considered counselling?”

 

“My son does not need a shrink digging around in his head.”

 

Hannah’s lips drew into a thin line. “Of course, Mr Winchester, you know what is best for your child. But the nightmares, the pre-occupation with monsters, and his clear fixation with what happened that night… they are not the only signs that Dean is struggling. He is frequently anxious and withdrawn, he complains often of stomach pain, he plays with his imaginary friend more than his classmates, and he even got into a fight with a few of the other children yesterday.”

 

“Dean is fighting?” Mary asked. “That doesn’t seem like him. He is so gentle with Sammy at home.”

 

“He is usually very sweet, if a little shy with his classmates. But yesterday, without any provocation I could see, he suddenly became hysterical. He started screaming at three of the boys he normally gets along with to get away from him and leave him alone. He called them ‘black-eyed monsters’ and punched one of them in the face before I was able to intervene.”

 

Mary’s breath caught. “Black eyes?”

 

“I don’t pretend to understand it. But I am worried about Dean, and to be honest I feel a little out of my depth, especially now that I know about the trauma he experienced last year. I really would like to refer you to a child psychologist, if you would be willing to-”

 

“No. Thank you, Miss Dawson, for bringing this to our attention, but we will deal with our son’s behaviour in our own way.”

 

“I am just trying to help, Mr Winchester.”

 

“We understand that, Hannah, thank you,” Mary said gently.

 

“Is there anything else?” John asked.

 

“Not at the moment, sir, no.”

 

“Okay, then. Come on, Mary.”

 

Mary picked up the pile of drawings. “Do you mind if I keep these, Hannah?”

 

“Go ahead.”

 

The car ride back home was tense and quiet. Mary flipped slowly through the drawings again, frightened by the accuracy with which Dean had drawn monsters that only hunters should know about.

 

“We’re not taking Dean to a shrink,” John said stiffly.

 

Mary agreed with him. It wasn’t a psychologist they needed – they knew as little about the supernatural as John did.

 

No. What they needed was a psychic.

 

The next day, Mary did not take Dean to Kinder as she normally would. Instead, she loaded her children into the car and drove to the address of a psychic she had found in the local directory. Eleven years on, she had lost all of her father's hunting contacts so she had to hope that this 'Missouri Moseley' had at least a trace of genuine talent, unlike most of the phoneys out there.

 

The waiting room did not look promising. It was filled with glittering beads, glitzy fabric and magazines with titles such as 'Your Daily Horoscope' and 'Unveiling the Future'. The woman herself looked like the embodiment of the stereotype as well, with the gypsy-style dress and necklaces, and when Mary heard the parting advice she gave to her previous client - "The man of your dreams is waiting just around the corner, honey, wait and see" - Mary nearly walked out then and there.

 

"I wondered when I would be seeing you here, Mary," the woman said. "Come on through, honey. Sam and Dean too."

 

Mary hesitated. "How do you know our names?"

 

"Same way I know you didn't tell your husband you were coming here, and the same way I know you're worried about your family. I put on a show for the civilians but I am the real deal, honey. So are you coming through or not?"

 

Mary stood, settling Sam on her hip and taking Dean's hand. "Come on, boys."

 

They got settled on the couch and suddenly Mary didn't know what to say.

 

"Yes, you can trust me, Dean," Missouri opened, as if answering a question that Dean had never voiced aloud. "I will listen to anything you want to tell me, and I'll believe you no matter how crazy it sounds."

 

"No one ever believes me," Dean said in a small voice, and Mary's heart broke.

 

Missouri glanced at Mary, a knowing look in her eyes, before she turned her attention back to Dean. "Maybe they are afraid to. You have seen some scary things, haven't you, honey?"

 

Dean nodded.

 

"Why don't you tell me about them?"

 

"I don't want to scare Sammy."

 

"Well, why don't we let Sammy play with the toys in the corner while we chat?"

 

Mary set her youngest on the floor and gave him a little nudge towards the toys. He crawled over and within a minute was happily absorbed in exploring a texture book.

 

"Okay, Dean?"

 

He nodded and launched into the story of what had happened in Sammy's nursery that night. Mary noticed that he didn't change or embellish any of the details from the first time he had told this tale, which was a strong indication that he was telling the truth. Not that she had ever doubted.

 

Missouri listened attentively, not appearing at all surprised by anything she was hearing.

 

"Okay, Dean. What about the nightmares?"

 

Dean’s face screwed up in bemusement. "They're not real. But they feel real, like I'm 'membering stuff that didn't happen."

 

This. _This_ is why Mary was here. This is what she was worried about. She knew what was out there in the dark, but how could her little boy possibly know? Unless he was somehow - different.

 

"Like what?" Missouri asked.

 

"Like the bad man burning Mommy and Daddy being very sad and drinking lots and practicing with guns and reading smelly old books with scary pictures in them and leaving me with Sammy to go hunting and coming back all hurted and getting better just so he can go hunting again."

 

"Hunting what, Dean?"

 

Dean glanced over to his little brother. "Monsters," he whispered.

 

"Alright, honey, thanks for telling me. Do you want to go and play with Sammy?"

 

He nodded and scrambled off the couch to join his little brother in play corner. Sammy squealed a greeting and thrust a teddy bear in Dean's face. Dean took it, smiling, and moved the bear's arms to give Sammy a cuddle. Sam beamed and passed Dean the next toy, then the next, piling them all in Dean's lap and watching eagerly as Dean showed him new ways to play with them.

 

"They're good together," Missouri observed. "Dean seems to take his job as big brother very seriously."

 

"Yes, he does," Mary agreed. Ever since the night of the fire, Dean had taken it upon himself to be Sammy's protector, teacher and best friend. He was always very gentle and patient with him; more patient than Mary herself was sometimes. She was so proud of him.

 

"Considering everything he has seen, Dean seems to be coping quite well."

 

"But why is he seeing such horrible things in the first place?"

 

"Well, I don't think I have to tell you that your son is telling the truth about what happened that night, or that the monsters in his dreams are very real. You already know."

 

"What are you talking about?"

 

"I know a hunter when I see one."

 

"I'm not-"

 

"You may have stopped hunting, honey, but you will always be a hunter. It is in your blood." She glanced meaningfully towards Dean. "It is in _his_ blood."

 

"No. _No_. My son will not be a hunter. I won't let him go through what I did."

 

"Dean has already seen pure evil. He doesn't understand his dreams, but deep down he knows that monsters are real and he is _scared_ , Mary. If you trained him to be a hunter he wouldn't feel so helpless, the way he did that night and still does."

 

"No. Hunters die young and they die bloody. I’m not going to lose him to the same bastards that killed my parents." And she was _not_ going to turn into her father.

 

"If you keep lying to him you will lose him for sure."

 

"I did not come here for parenting advice," Mary snapped, refusing to acknowledge that the woman's words had hit a little too close to home. "I want to know why my son is having these dreams. Is he psychic? Is he seeing the future?"

 

"No."

 

Mary sighed in relief. Dean’s description of his dreams had scared her; she didn't want to die, and she didn't want John to become a hunter to get revenge. She just wanted her family to be safe.

 

"I can't put my finger on exactly what it is," Missouri continued, "But if I had to guess I would say that Dean is experiencing an alternate version of events - what _could_ have been if that night had turned out differently."

 

"You mean if I had gone into Sammy's nursery, and the demon had killed me."

 

"Yes."

 

So that mysterious hunter, whoever he had been, really had saved her life with the warning he gave her all those years ago. She wished she could thank him.

 

"I still don’t understand, though. Why would Dean dream about things that _could_ have happened but didn’t?"

 

"I am afraid I don’t have an answer for that. I have never heard of anything like this. I just know that Dean’s energy feels like...a focal point, or an axis at the centre of a myriad of important events that could change the course of history. But I don't know why, or what that means for his future."

 

That did not bode well. "How do I stop it?"

 

"I don't think you can."

 

"I don't want to hear that. This is my son we are talking about!"

 

"I'm sorry, Mary. All you can do is try to prepare him for whatever is coming.”

 

As far as Mary was concerned, that was not an option. She had sworn to herself that she would not raise her children to be hunters, and she intended to keep that promise no matter what.

 

"Thank you for your time," Mary said curtly as she stood. "Dean, Sam, come on, we're leaving." She scooped up her youngest and took Dean's hand.

 

Dean hung back. "Mommy, what did she say?"

 

"She said that you have an over active imagination and that monsters don't exist. You don't have to be scared, Dean."

 

Mary pretended not to see the disappointment on Missouri's face, or the hurt in Dean's eyes. She just had to hope this would finally convince him he was wrong about the monsters so he would stay far, far away from hunting.

 

She was doing this for his own good.

 

ooOOoo


	5. Chapter 5

 

By the time he had turned six, Dean had learned a few important life lessons.

 

The first was that adults couldn’t be trusted. The second was that he was a freak. And the third was that it was better for everyone if he pretended to be normal.

 

He stopped talking about his nightmares. They made him cry sometimes, but he made sure he stayed quiet so his parents wouldn’t hear him.

 

He stopped drawing monsters. When his teacher asked him to draw a picture, he stuck to the basics – family members, playgrounds, bikes and cars. Dad was especially pleased by his drawing of the Impala, so Dean decided to keep practicing until he could draw Daddy’s car perfectly. He liked it when his dad was proud of him.

 

He stopped praying to his angel, too. He wanted to think that Cas was listening, but no matter how many times Dean asked him to come and play with him at Kinder he never did. He was probably too busy to pay attention to a silly little kid like him.

 

The one thing Dean _wouldn’t_ do was ‘play nicely’ with the three boys in his class who were always pushing him around and hissing nasty things in his ear when the teacher’s back was turned. He had learned that monsters could look like ordinary people, but if you looked closely the eyes gave it away. And he had seen their eyes. They were _black_.

 

He didn’t know what Nick, Kyle and Dylan were, or what they had turned into, but he did know that they wanted to hurt him. He stayed away from them as much as possible.

 

Unfortunately, they were all invited to Kimberley Reed’s birthday party. By the time the other boys turned up Mom was long gone, so Dean just tried to pretend everything was okay and have fun with the rest of the kids. But in all the noise and chaos, Mrs Reed did not notice that four boys were missing from her table when she called everyone inside for lunch.

 

“Let _go_ ,” Dean insisted, struggling to escape the tight grip Nick had on his arm. “Leave me alone!”

 

Nick ignored him, waiting while the other two boys busted a hole in the back fence with their bare hands. They were stronger than any kids Dean had ever met. Stronger than adults, too. Nick glanced quickly back to the house, making sure no one was looking for them, before he dragged Dean through into the deserted alleyway. Without being told, Dylan took up a post by the fence while Kyle ran down to the end of the alleyway to keep an eye out.

 

Nick grinned, eyes flashing black. “Alone at last.”

 

Dean spat at him and Nick threw him to the ground.

 

“I gotta tell ya, kid, you made this assignment a tricky one for us. When the boss told us there was a snot-nosed brat in Kansas who needed to die, we thought we would be in and out of here in a day. But we were under strict instructions to keep this kill under the radar – something about an ex-hunter with a vested interest – and you made it remarkably difficult to get you alone, out of eyeshot of meddlesome adults. Always hovering around your teacher or Mommy dearest. Smart move, but I guess today just ain’t your lucky day.”

 

Dean tried to scramble up and make a break for it, but Nick planted a foot firmly in his back. “A-ah, Deany. You’re not going anywhere.”

 

He tried to squirm free but the other boy was too heavy to budge. “Get off!”

 

“Nah, kid. Orders are orders. You’re gonna die here. Nice. And. Slow.”

 

Nick kicked him in the ribs, hard, and Dean skidded across the ground, slamming into the wall opposite.

 

“You gonna cry?” Nick taunted. “Baby gonna cry?”

 

Dean fought back the tears, climbing painfully to his feet and balling his hands into fists. “I’m not a baby!”

 

“Oh goodie, I love it when they fight back.” Nick beckoned. “Come on, kid. Show me what ya got.”

 

Dean ran forward and took a wild swing. Nick dodged it easily. He drove a fist into Dean’s gut and as he doubled over Nick punched him hard in the jaw, knocking him flat on his back. His head slammed against the concrete and he saw stars.

 

Nick tutted. “Poor showing, kid. I expected more from you.”

 

Dean stood back up. He was breathing heavily and he felt like he was going to throw up, but he wasn’t going to give into this bully. Though his eyesight was blurry, he glared in Nick’s general direction. “You have to do – better – than that!”

 

“My pleasure.” Nick moved fast, getting in three swift blows before Dean could react. He reeled backwards, blood spurting from his nose. Nick came after him, grabbing his throat and pinning him against the wall. “This is fun. Aren’t you having fun, Deany?”

 

The grip around his throat tightened until Dean was struggling for air. He kicked and flailed, but Nick was unfazed.

 

“Cute, kid. Really. You really have no idea what you’re up against, do you?”

 

He let go and stood back, but Dean was still pinned against the wall, held tight by an invisible force that was horribly familiar.

 

“But – but you don’t have yellow eyes.”

 

Nick smirked. “Nah. Yellow-eyes is our boss. He sends his love, by the way. Well, no, more like he sends his sincerest wishes to see you die bloody.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a jagged knife; one that Dean recognised. Dean’s face blanched. “Ol’ Yellow-eyes says he gutted you pretty good with this. We don’t know how you survived the fire, but we’re gonna make sure we finish the job this time.”

 

Nick flicked the blade across Dean’s face and arms, criss-crossing cuts that burned and stung all over him. Dean quickly forgot his resolve not to cry, screaming and sobbing for his Mommy as his skin was slashed open and his blood spilled down his body. It felt like it went on forever.

 

“Aww, I’m afraid this show is gonna have to come to a close,” Nick said sadly, glancing at his Spiderman watch. “It’s been great, Deany, really. You have a delightful little scream – all pain and fear without enough volume to drown out all that fun being had at Kimmy’s party. I’m gonna miss watching you cry. But you know how it is, places to be, other people to kill.” Nick settled the tip of the blade over Dean’s belly button. “So long, kid.”

 

He was going to die.

 

Dean closed his eyes, bracing himself for the end – but then he remembered.

 

“ _Cas._ ”

 

“What?”

 

Dean grinned fiercely, staring directly into black eyes. “CAS.”

 

“What are you-?”

 

There was the sound of flapping wings, followed by cries of shock from Dylan and Kyle as a man wearing a trench coat appeared in the alleyway.

 

Nick turned slowly, fearfully. He didn’t look so big and strong now. “Who are you?”

 

“My name is Castiel. I have come for the boy.”

 

Nick spun back to Dean and made to plunge the knife deep into his belly – but Castiel caught his arm and brutally _twisted_. The blade clattered to the ground.

 

“You shall not harm Dean Winchester.”

 

“What _are_ you?” Nick whimpered, trying in vain to break free from his grip.

 

“He’s my angel,” Dean said smugly. “And you guys are in big trouble.”

 

He was right. Dylan and Kyle tried to run but a sharp gesture from Cas froze them in place. He started chanting a weird language and they grunted, then screamed, then begged, and then black smoke exploded from their mouths and vanished into the ground. All three boys collapsed to the floor and didn’t move.

 

Released from the wall, Dean tottered unsteadily. “Are – are they dead?”

 

“The demons have been exorcised. The children they were inhabiting are unconscious but are otherwise unharmed.”

 

Dean frowned. “So… so it wasn’t really Nick?”

 

“No. He was possessed by a demon.”

 

The angel turned blurry and his words stopped making sense. Dean wanted to ask what was wrong with him. “Wh-whazza-hnn-”

 

The world turned topsy-turvy, Dean’s legs turned to jelly and the ground lurched up to meet him.

 

He didn’t hit the floor, though, because once again strong arms caught him.

 

The angel sighed. “Dean Winchester, you attract more trouble than any human I have ever known.”

 

Two fingers pressed against Dean’s forehead. Warmth spread through him, taking away the hurt. When Dean’s eyes fluttered open, he saw that his body was all fixed again.

 

Sighing with relief, Dean melted bonelessly into his angel’s arms. “Thanks, Cas.”

 

For a second, he could have sworn that the angel tightened his embrace, but then Cas set him back on his feet to look down at him sternly. “You could have been killed, Dean. What do you have to say for yourself?”

 

Dean pouted. “Not my fault the bad man sent the black smoke monsters after me. I didn’t even _do_ anything.”

 

“It is not about what you have done, it is about what you _will_ do.”

 

“Huh?”

 

Instead of explaining, Cas changed the topic. “Why did you wait so long to call me, Dean? If I had not arrived when I did you would have perished.”

 

“I called you lots!” Dean protested. “Every day for days and _days_ I called you and you never came.”

 

“I heard you,” Cas admitted. “But you are supposed to play with other children your age, not an angel. I had work to do.”

 

Dean’s bottom lip wobbled. “I thought you were my friend.”

 

“I’m a warrior of God.”

 

“So? Daddy had friends in the army. They come for drinks sometimes.”

 

“We are not supposed to get close to the humans in our charge.”

 

“That’s a stupid rule.”

 

“I do not expect you to understand. You are only a child.”

 

Dean folded his arms and glared up at the angel. “Don’t treat me like a dumb kid. I’m six, not a baby.”

 

“I was not questioning your intelligence, just your ability to comprehend matters beyond your scope of human experience.”

 

“Like monsters?” Dean challenged.

 

Cas tilted his head, regarding him thoughtfully. “It is true. I have seen adults who have difficulty accepting the existence of the supernatural, but you handle the truth remarkably well.”

 

“Better than Mom and Dad. They don’t believe me.”

 

“For many people it is easier to ignore reality than to live in fear of the dark.”

 

“The dark isn’t scary. It is the things hiding in it that are scary, like ghosts and Wendigos and demons.”

 

“A wise distinction.”

 

Dean noticed that the angel didn’t deny the existence of the creatures he had mentioned. “So… they’re real? All the monsters I see in my dreams?”

 

“Yes.”

 

A part of Dean had hoped that all the adults were right and that the monsters were just from his imagination. Aside from demons, he had never seen the monsters of his nightmares with his own eyes, and it felt better to pretend they weren’t real. But an angel had just said they were, so they had to be. Suddenly, going to sleep became much scarier.

 

He tried to cling to the illusion. “But Mommy didn’t die and Daddy isn’t a hunter and we don’t live in motel rooms.”

 

“Correct.”

 

Dean was more confused than ever. “So some stuff in my dreams is real and some isn’t? That’s weird.”

 

Cas sighed. “This is very difficult to explain to a child.”

 

Dean glared.

 

“Stubbornness. Yet another irrepressible trait of Dean Winchester. Okay, Dean, let me ask you a question. If your mother had died in that fire, and years later you discovered a way to travel back in time, would you try to save her?”

 

“She’s my mommy,” Dean said. It was a stupid question.

 

Cas nodded. “Of course you would. And you did.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“Everything you dream about happened, Dean. The yellow-eyed demon killed your mother and your father became a hunter. You grew up learning about monsters and weapons; the ‘family business’, as it were. When we met, I took you back in time to show you something, and you saw your chance to warn your mother about her fate. In doing so, you disrupted the natural timeline and created an alternate reality.”

 

Dean frowned, trying to understand all of the angel’s big words. “I grew big and went back in time and I saved Mommy?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Good.”

 

“That remains to be seen. There are consequences for your actions, Dean. As a hunter, your father killed many evil creatures and saved many lives. Now that he is living as a mechanic, all of those people are in danger.”

 

Dean thought about the people who got hurt in his nightmares and his eyes welled up with tears. “My fault?”

 

“I have been trying to save as many as possible. Your dreams have proven advantageous in that regard. They are an echo of the version of you from the original timeline, bleeding through the walls between the worlds because you were the source of the disruption. I have been gleaning as much information from your dreams as I can, and completing the hunts your father should have.”

 

Dean smiled tentatively. “You really are a superhero.”

 

“I’m an angel,” Cas corrected.

 

“So, everything is okay then? Mommy is alive and you can help all those other people?”

 

“Yes. But it is you I am worried about. When you went back in time to save your mother, you also told the Yellow-eyed demon that you would be the one to kill him in the future. That is why he is trying so hard to kill you first, and I am afraid he will succeed.”

 

“But you saved me.”

 

“I am not from this reality, Dean, nor am I from this time. I am cut off from my original universe, but I did attempt to return to the appropriate year so I would not damage the natural course of events any further. But I could not find you in the future, which leads me to believe that you do not make it that far.”

 

Dean swallowed. “I’m gonna die?”

 

“I will endeavour to prevent that outcome. Your destiny is far too important to permit an untimely demise. That is why I returned to save you in Sam’s nursery, and why I have been checking in on you regularly since. But you must promise to call me if you are in danger.”

 

Dean nodded frantically. “I will.”

 

“Good. I will return you to your home now. Stay safe, Dean Winchester.”

 

“Wait-”

 

But Cas had already tapped two fingers against Dean’s forehead and in the blink of an eye he found himself standing in his driveway at home.

 

Dean made up a story about a friend’s mom driving him home to explain to his parents how he had made it back from the party without being picked up, and they accepted it without question.

 

He knew there was no point trying to tell the truth.

 

ooOOoo


	6. Chapter 6

 

Dean was usually pretty good about bedtime. Sammy had reached the stage of throwing tantrums whenever he was told to go to sleep and his new favourite sentence was “No nap!”, but his older brother tended to go to bed without fuss or argument, tired enough that the thought of sleep was more than welcome.

 

Not tonight, though.

 

As soon as his mother switched off the light and left the room Dean scrambled out from under the neatly tucked covers. He backed away from the bed, staring at it like it was the enemy.

 

The mattress was too soft, the pillow too fluffy, the covers too warm. If he lay in bed he would fall asleep.

 

Dean didn't want to fall asleep.

 

He didn't want to _dream_. Not now that he knew for sure that the monsters he had nightmares about were real. The dreams were always so vivid, but he could face them because he never had reason to believe those monsters were really out there in the dark or that all those people were really being ripped to shreds.

 

What was he supposed to do now? He didn't want to watch people – families, kids, little old grannies, babies like Sam – die from teeth and claws and violent poltergeists. He didn't want to see huge puddles of blood and dead eyes. He didn't want to know that people were crying for their loved ones and would never know what had happened to them.

 

He decided he was going to stay awake. Tonight, tomorrow night and every night after that. He didn't care how tired he got.

 

Because maybe...maybe if he didn't sleep, those people wouldn't die. And he wanted so badly to save them.

 

Decision made, Dean curled up in the corner of his bedroom, sitting as far away from his bed as he could. It was cold but he refused to get a blanket, so he wrapped his arms around his knees and resigned himself to shivering. When his eyes began to droop he pinched his arms hard, letting the pain startle him awake again.

 

It was boring, and lonely, and every time a shadow moved it made him jump. But he was determined to be brave like the Dean in his dreams. _That_ Dean could babysit Sammy all by himself. _That_ Dean knew how to shoot a shot gun. _That_ Dean helped sew up his Daddy's cuts when they were bleeding everywhere. _That_ Dean dropped matches into open graves to burn bones while his Daddy held off the ghosts. _That_ Dean didn't hide behind his Daddy when they found dead bodies. _That_ Dean acted as bait for monsters so his Daddy could hunt them. _That_ Dean was a hero, and Dean wanted to be just like him.

 

So he refused to be scared, and he refused to be sleepy.

 

He didn't know how long he had been sitting there, but it was still dark outside his window when the silence was broken by the sound of flapping wings. When a figure appeared in his room he almost screamed but trapped the sound in his throat just in time, realising it was his angel.

 

"Hello, Dean."

 

"You scared me!" Dean accused, speaking in a loud whisper so his parents wouldn't hear.

 

Cas dropped his voice accordingly. "That was not my intention."

 

"What are you doing here?" Dean asked. He had gone for more than a year without seeing his angel, and now he was seeing him for the second time that day. He wouldn't mind, but Cas only seemed to turn up when there was trouble. "Is - is it that bad man? Is he coming?"

 

"No. You are safe tonight."

 

Dean relaxed a little. "So why, then?"

 

Cas crouched down next to him so they were at eye level with each other. He looked directly at Dean without blinking and it was kind of weird but kind of nice at the same time because lots of adults treated kids like they were invisible or looked down on them because they were little, but Cas _saw_ him, really saw him, and that made Dean feel special.

 

"You are not sleeping," Cas said.

 

"Don't wanna."

 

Cas frowned a little. "As I understand it, humans require regular sleep periods in order to function at peak efficiency. Insufficient rest can cause cognitive, physical and emotional impairment."

 

Dean blinked blearily at him. "You use big words."

 

Cas seemed puzzled for a moment but tried again. "Lack of sleep is not good for you."

 

Dean yawned. "Good for...for other people, though. Keeps them safe."

 

"How do you mean?"

 

"People die when I dream. Monsters kill them. And I dream when I sleep, so I can't sleep."

 

Cas tilted his head. "You would deprive yourself of the sleep you need for the sake of strangers."

 

"They shouldn't die. They should be alive and safe and happy. I wanna help them."

 

Dean couldn't quite understand the look his angel was giving him, but Cas didn't seem upset with him so he didn't worry.

 

"That is...an admirable ambition, Dean. However people are not dying because you have dreams. You have those dreams because people are dying - or, rather, because they died in an alternate timeline. It is just that similar events unfold here."

 

"So...so I didn't make all those people die?"

 

"No, Dean. Remember I told you? I have been using your dreams to prevent further loss of life. So, in a way, you _have_ been helping people."

 

Dean scrunched up his nose. "By sleeping?"

 

"Yes."

 

"So you're saying I should go back to bed?"

 

Cas nodded.

 

"Oh," Dean said softly.  He thought about the monsters and the dead people – the _real_ monsters and dead people – that he would see if he closed his eyes. He swallowed, but stood up anyway and reluctantly climbed into bed. He couldn't bring himself to lie down, though, and ended up sitting stiffly with his hands fisted in the covers.

 

"I have no personal experience, but that appears to be a difficult position to sleep in. I believe lying horizontally would be more effective."

 

Dean didn't move.

 

"Dean? Are you...frightened?"

 

Dean shook his head, but he could feel his heart pounding in his chest.

 

"The dreams are distressing for you. I apologise, Dean, I should have realised sooner. I confess that I am accustomed to the adult version of you, but I should not have forgotten that at the moment you are very young even by human standards."

 

"I'm not a baby," Dean was quick to protest. "And I'm not scared."

 

"Being afraid is nothing to be ashamed of, Dean. Even grow men are scared sometimes. What is important is how you respond to fear; whether you control it, or allow it to control you."

 

"People...people need me to sleep, so you can save them. And if I'm a scaredy-cat then they might die."

 

"It is unlikely that you will turn into a feline, unless a witch is feeling particularly creative."

 

"Feline?"

 

"A cat."

 

Dean giggled. "A _scaredy_ -cat, silly. That's a name for someone who's too scared to do something. I don't want to be one of those. So... So I guess I should be brave and go to sleep." He wriggled down until his head was on the pillow, took a deep breath and tried to relax.

 

But then he thought about monsters and dead bodies and he couldn't close his eyes.

 

"I could stop the dreams if that is what you want," Cas offered. "I know they are unpleasant, and no child should have to bear witness to such horrors, especially not a second time."

 

Dean was tempted. He hated the nightmares. "But then you won't be able to save the people."

 

"It would make my task much more difficult, that is true. But for the sake of your wellbeing..."

 

Dean sighed. "No. That's okay. Could you just...stay with me for a little while?"

 

Cas came over to stand by the bed. "As you wish."

 

Secure in the knowledge that his angel was keeping watch, Dean finally let his eyes close.

 

Sleep overtook him quickly.

 

When Dean woke up crying two hours later, Cas was still there. Dean flung himself into his angel's arms, sobbing a description of what he had seen into the white shirt. He tried to give as many details as he could so the angel would know where to go and what to look for, even though remembering hurt.

 

"You have shown great courage tonight, Dean," Cas said quietly. "Because of you, I will be able to go and destroy the vengeful spirit you have seen before it can kill anyone else. Thank you."

 

Dean hiccoughed and nodded, waiting for his angel to put him down so he could vanish again.

 

But Cas hesitated. "Dean... I do not have to leave immediately. The ghost will harm no one else tonight. If you want I could... I could stay."

 

In answer, Dean tightened his hold on the angel's coat.

 

"Okay, Dean." Cas sat on the bed with his back against the headrest, allowing Dean to shift into a more comfortable position on his lap. Dean curled up against his chest, pulling the big coat around the both of them, and sighed in contentment when Cas wrapped his arms around him.

 

This time when he fell asleep, he dreamed of warmth, light, blue eyes and soft feathers.

 

ooOOoo

 

Sometimes Dean felt like he was two different people leading two different lives. Sort of like Batman and Bruce Wayne, except he didn't dress up in a costume at night or live in a fancy mansion.

 

Most of the time he was Dean Winchester. Son and big brother. Average student at Lawrence Primary School. Car mechanic in training. Typical boy who enjoyed playing footy in the backyard with his dad, building forts out of chairs and bedding with his little brother, turning his mom's pots and pans into a drum kit, watching movies at the drive-in and eating home-made pie. All in all, he seemed to be a normal kid with none of the issues and oddities his kinder teacher had been so worried about. His parents were relieved.

 

But other times, he was a different Dean Winchester. He was the boy who gradually stopped being frightened by his nightmares and started to pay close attention so he could learn from them. He was the boy who hid a circle of salt under the rugs in every room of the house and checked that every door and window in the house was locked before he went to bed. He was the boy who looked deep into people's eyes to make sure they were not the wrong colour. He was the boy unfazed by small cuts and bruises because he had lived through much worse. He was the boy whose best friend was a monster-fighting angel.

 

His Dad thought Dean was going to grow up to take over the family business, working as a mechanic fixing cars. He told his teachers that he wanted to become a firefighter when he was big enough. But he knew what he was supposed to be, what he _would_ be. And the only person he could tell was Cas.

 

“I’m going to be a hunter!” he announced one night. He had woken from a dream and, just like always since the first time, Cas was there to comfort him. But this night, seeing the carnage a vampire nest had left in its wake had not scared Dean – it made him _angry._ He wanted to go out there and hunt them down himself for what they had done to that poor family.

 

Cas looked at him for a long moment. Dean was getting better at reading his expressions; this one seemed to be a combination of sadness and pride. “All roads lead to the same destination,” Cas said at last. “I am sorry, Dean. When the other you altered the past to save your mother, I think he hoped to change your fate as well.”

 

“He – I – didn’t want to be a hunter?”

 

“He never felt that he had a choice. But through his actions he did give _you_ one. You don’t have to do this, Dean.”

 

“I wanna hunt.”

 

“It is a difficult life, Dean,” Cas warned. “Dangerous. You will suffer many hardships if you follow this road.”

 

Dean shrugged. “I don’t mind. Someone’s gotta, right? It’ll be worth it to help all those people.”

 

Cas stopped frowning, which Dean had learned was his version of a smile. “A response worthy of a Winchester. It is for reasons such as these that you were considered Heaven’s Righteous Man, Dean.”

 

Dean’s angel still tended to say very strange things, and Dean only understood him about half the time. “Huh?”

 

“You are a remarkable individual,” Cas said. “Few could make the choice that you have tonight.”

 

“…thanks?”

 

Cas gave a slight nod.

 

Dean bounced a little in his bed, getting excited. “So are you gonna teach me how to be a hunter? When do we start? Can we start now?”

 

“I do not believe I would not be the best teacher for you,” Cas said. “I am an angel, after all, not a human. My hunting methods are different.”

 

“Like how?”

 

“I can fly across the country in a matter of seconds and search a town in an instant,” Cas reminded him.

 

For a long time Dean had wondered why he could always hear wings flapping when Cas came and went but never saw so much as a feather no matter how hard he stared at the back of the angel’s trench coat. Cas finally explained that his wings were invisible to humans so that people who saw him wouldn’t know he was an angel. Dean was kind of grumpy that he never got to see them because he bet they looked awesome, but Cas had flown him to lots of places superfast and that was pretty cool.

 

“I can smite demons and burn ghosts with my Grace,” Cas continued. “Also, I tap into your dreams to find hunts. From what I observed of your hunting practices in the alternate reality, human hunters must do long hours of research and driving, they must be experienced with hand-to-hand combat against far stronger opponents, and they must also be highly skilled in the operation of a large variety of weapons.”

 

“You can’t teach me that stuff?”

 

“I am afraid not.”

 

Dean’s shoulders slumped with disappointment. His dream Daddy had taught his dream self all about hunting, but the dreams didn’t show him everything and they didn’t help him practice in real life. He knew his real Daddy had been a marine, but he never let Dean anywhere near his guns and there was no way he would teach him how to use them.

 

“However, it may be possible for me to find you another teacher...”

 

Dean’s face lit up immediately. “Really? You’d do that? Who is it gonna be? When can I meet them? Can you go get them now?”

 

“I shall do my best to arrange a meeting, but it may take some time.”

 

Dean settled back in his bed and folded his hands together, doing his best to look patient. “I can wait.”

 

“A few weeks at least.”

 

Dean wrinkled his nose but nodded. “Okay, Cas.”

 

“Very well. Now, lie down and go back to sleep. It is only a few hours until morning and you require rest.”

 

Dean was sure he was too excited to sleep, but he wriggled back under the covers obediently. Cas tucked him in and smoothed his hair back. The gentle touch sent peace washing through him and Dean sighed, his eyes fluttering shut.

 

“Goodnight, Dean.”

 

Dean mumbled something incoherent, already slipping off into dreamland with a smile lingering on his lips.

 

ooOOoo


	7. Chapter 7

“Winchester?”

 

Dean and his Dad both poked their heads out from under the Volkswagen they were fixing up for a customer. It was a Saturday and Mom was out shopping with Sammy so Dad had let Dean tag along to the workshop. Usually Dean would hand him the tools while he worked, but today Dad had let him lie on one of the creepers and slide under the car with him. It wasn’t quite as exciting as learning to be a hunter would be, but Dean was still enjoying himself. It was nice to spend time with his Dad.

 

“You John Winchester?” asked a man wearing a battered old baseball cap. He had a gruff voice and a scruffy beard, but it was the oil-stained work clothes that gave him away as a fellow mechanic.

 

Dad pushed his creeper clear of the car, stood up and wiped his hands on an old rag before offering the visitor a hand to shake. “Yeah, that’s me.”

 

Dean scrambled out after him, wiping his hands too and sticking one out in greeting. He wanted to be just like his Dad.

 

The visitor’s face crinkled into a smile as he shook Dean’s hand. “Hey kid. What’s your name?”

 

“This is my boy, Dean,” Dad said, clapping Dean on the shoulder.

 

“Hey there Dean. My name’s Bobby.” He looked up at Dad. “Bobby Singer of Singer Salvage Yard in Sioux Falls, South Dakoda.”

 

Dad whistled. “You’ve come a long way.”

 

Bobby scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah. I heard you have a rare engine part for a Chevrolet C4 Corvette, and I need one for a client of mine.”

 

Dad raised his eyebrows.

 

“A high paying and very demanding client,” Bobby clarified.

 

Dad chuckled. “Well, I do specialise in Chevvy’s. I own a 1967 Impala, myself.”

 

“I saw her on my drive in. Boy, she’s a beauty, ain’t she?”

 

That earned a grin from Dad. “Yeah, I’m proud of my gal. Dean here is in love with her, though – he spends more time washing and waxing her than I do. Calls her Baby.”

 

Dean flushed.

 

Bobby winked at him. “I know what you’ll be wanting for your sixteenth birthday, then, ey boy?”

 

“Oi, don’t go putting ideas in my boy’s head,” Dad objected. “The Impala’s all mine.”

 

“’course,” Bobby agreed. But he mouthed “for now” to Dean when Dad wasn’t looking, and Dean beamed at him.

 

“Come on out the back, Mr Singer, and we’ll have a look for that engine part you need. Watch the shop, Dean?”

 

“Yes, Dad.”

 

Dean clambered up onto the front desk and sat with his legs swinging, looking out for any more customers.

 

He wasn’t expecting the sound of fluttering wings and almost fell off the table when Cas appeared in front of him.

 

 “Cas!” Dean shot a look behind him, relieved that his Dad was too busy with a customer to notice the angel’s unnatural entrance. If he had seen Cas appear out of nowhere he would have freaked out. “What are you doing here?”

 

“I brought you your teacher.”

 

Dean hopped down, excitement bubbling up inside him as he looked around, expecting another person to pop out of thin air at any moment. “Really? Where?”

 

Cas gestured to the back work room. “Bobby Singer.”

 

Dean raised his eyebrows, unconsciously mirroring his father. “That guy? He works at a salvage yard.”

 

“Yes. He is also a hunter; one of the best. He was a mentor and a father figure to the other version of you, although in the original timeline you did not meet him until you were a few years older.”

 

Sometimes Dean’s life was very strange. Even though he had known about this ‘original timeline’ and ‘alternate reality’ thing for a while now, it still weirded him out. Cas was talking like he had this whole history with a man he had only just met, and as the years passed he would probably start remembering all the times his other self had spent with this stranger. Still, if Bobby Singer was going to be his teacher, Dean guessed they would be forming new memories together. It would be a relief to have another person to talk about monsters with.

 

“He is a good man,” Cas assured him. “I am certain you will learn as much from him in this reality as you did in the last. Perhaps more.”

 

“Thanks, Cas.”

 

Cas nodded and left in a flurry of invisible wings, just as Dad and Bobby came out of the back room with an engine part in tow.

 

“…so we’ll just settle the account…” Dad was saying as he led Bobby over to the desk.

 

“I can put that in your truck for you,” Dean offered, gesturing to the engine part.

 

“It’s heavy,” Bobby said, but he placed it carefully in Dean’s arms. “You got it?”

 

Dean hefted it, getting the weight balanced so he could walk without dropping it. “I got it.” He took it out to Bobby’s truck and set it down in the trailer, packing it amongst blankets and boxes so it wouldn’t get damaged along the drive.

 

Bobby came out just as he was finishing up and gave an approving nod. “Thanks, boy. Keep up the good work and you’ll be a mechanic like your Daddy in no time.”

 

Bobby was about to climb into his truck when Dean piped up with, “Actually, I don’t wanna be a mechanic when I grow up. I wanna be something else.”

 

Bobby let go of the door handle and crouched down to Dean’s level. “Oh yeah? What might that be?”

 

Dean looked the man straight in the eyes. “I want to be a hunter.”

 

Bobby stumbled back in surprise, falling on his ass in the dirt. “W-what?”

 

“I want to be a hunter like you,” Dean said calmly.

 

 The man stood up painfully, huffing a laugh that wasn’t very convincing. “I own a salvage yard, kid. I don’t go out and shoot Bambi.”

 

“Not a hunter of _deer_. A hunter of _monsters_ , like ghosts and Wendigos and Shapeshifters-”

 

“Shh!” Bobby exclaimed in alarm, glancing around to make sure no one else had heard what he had said. “You can’t just- You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 

“Yeah I do. Monsters are real, and you hunt them. You probably carry a stash of weapons with you, like shot guns and silver knifes and holy water…”

 

“How could you possibly-?”

 

Dean shrugged. “I know some things. I wanna know more, and an angel told me you were the guy to ask.”

 

“The phrase is ‘a little birdy told me’,” Bobby corrected, “and I don’t know who you’ve been talking to, boy, but they have been yanking your chain. Monster’s ain’t real, and I’m just a mechanic.”

 

Dean sighed. “When I was four years old a demon with yellow eyes stabbed me with a knife, stuck me to the ceiling and set a room on fire to kill me. It is too late to ‘shelter’ me, or whatever you adults seem to think you are supposed to do, so can you please just tell me the truth?”

 

Bobby gaped at him.

 

“Mr Singer?” Dean prompted when the silence had drawn out a little too long.

 

The man shook himself. “Bobby. ‘Mr Singer’ makes me feel old.”

 

“You are old,” Dean reminded him helpfully.

 

The man grunted. “So you know about monsters.”

 

“Yes, sir.” At Bobby’s wince, Dean edited, “-er, Bobby.”

 

The man took off his baseball cap and ran his fingers through his hair before setting the cap back in place. “Okay. Okay. I was not expecting to meet a kid who knows more about monsters than the majority of the adult population in America, but hell, in this line of work you learn to just roll with it. Does your Daddy know?”

 

Dean shook his head. “I told Mom and Dad what happened but they didn’t believe me.”

 

“Well, you gotta admit kid, it is a lot to swallow.”

 

“Yeah, I know.”

 

Bobby gave him a long, searching look. “You do, don’t you?” He sighed, sad and weary.  “I’m sorry, boy. I wish you coulda kept your innocence.”

 

Dean shrugged. “If I had known about monsters sooner I might have been able to stop the demon from ever getting into my house.” 

 

Grief passed over Bobby’s face. “I know what you mean.”

 

“Now that I know, I want to be a hunter. I want to save people from monsters. And I want you to train me.”

 

“Dean…”

 

“I don’t care if it is dangerous. The world is dangerous! If I know how to hunt I can help to make it a little bit safer.”

 

“Dean, you’re just a kid. How old are you, nine? Ten?”

 

“Eight and three quarters,” Dean grudgingly admitted.

 

“Eight,” Bobby echoed. “Dean, if you want to be a hunter I am not going to tell you no. But you are only eight years old. You haven’t even hit puberty yet. The hard truth is that you are too small, too weak, and too young to be hunting. You can’t hold your own in a fight, you can’t dig up a grave, you can’t ask questions at a crime scene, you can’t be out alone at night, you can’t drive halfway across the countryside, you’ll have trouble doing research when you can’t read most of the big words in the books yet, and you are too young to die.”

 

“But-”

 

“Here’s what you can do. You can learn how to protect yourself and your family. You can learn how to spot monsters. And you can have my phone number, so if anything comes up you can give me a call and I will deal with it or I will send in another hunter.”

 

“But-”

 

“When you are old enough, you can come to me in Sioux Falls, South Dakota, and I will teach you everything I know about hunting. But for now, I want you to be a kid. Have fun. Play with your friends and your little brother. Go to school. Date pretty girls. Eat cake. Play baseball. Live a little.”

 

Dean wanted to become a hunter right now. But Bobby had a point. Cas had to work hard enough to protect him without Dean going out and deliberately looking for danger, and Dean just wasn’t big enough to take care of himself out there in the big bad world. He would have to wait.

 

“You’ll teach me how to protect my family?” Dean asked.

 

“Absolutely. Tell you what. I’ll stick around in town for a few days and teach you a few tricks of the trade, and I’ll leave you with a quick-reference guide for everything else I won’t have time to show you. But only if you promise to be a kid, just for a little while longer.”

 

It was a fair deal. “Okay, Bobby.” Dean held out a hand. “I promise.”

 

They shook on it, and Bobby was on his way.

 

“What took you so long?” Dad asked when Dean wandered back into the workshop.

 

“Me and Bobby were talking cars,” Dean said.

 

Dad chuckled. “That’s my boy. You’ll be a mechanic for sure.”

 

ooOOoo


	8. Chapter 8

 All Mary had ever wanted was to settle down, have a family and live a normal, safe life. She didn't think it was too much to ask – she had spent most of her childhood and adolescence fighting evil and helping people which, in a fair universe, would entitle her to a little peace and happiness. Instead, her parents had been murdered, her first home had been burned to the ground, a demon had done god-knows-what to her baby, and her eldest son was hurtling towards the very life she had tried to save him from.

 

Dean was turning into a hunter.

 

She didn't know how, she didn't know why, but she did know the signs. Every time she cleaned the house she found more of them.

 

When she was vacuuming under the rugs, she found salt circles around the beds in every bedroom and Devil’s Traps painted onto the floorboards. She found rosary beads under the bathroom sink, a Latin-English dictionary hidden among the children’s picture books, John’s silver-plated letter opener in Dean’s pencil case and the fireplace poker stashed under Dean’s mattress. She even found a sketchbook in his drawer that was filled with monsters. They weren’t just drawings anymore, either. Details were written in like stats on a video game, listing names, origins, habitats, killing patterns, strengths, weaknesses… and dates. She had to hope it was just a dream diary and not a hunter’s journal.

 

Dean was only nine years old. He shouldn’t know about monsters. He shouldn’t be the one protecting this family. He shouldn’t have weapons in his room and he should not be prepared to use them. He was a _child._

 

But what could she do? Removing the defences Dean had set up would put their whole family in danger for no good reason. Confronting him about it would force her to tell the truth about her own upbringing or risk pushing him away even further.

 

Mary chose to ignore it. She vacuumed around the salt lines and left Dean’s supplies where he had hidden them. She made an emergency kit for herself and hid it at the top of the linen closet.  She made sure they always had a large supply of road salt on hand, and added a few clips of silver and iron bullets to John’s weapon case. She checked on the safe house.

 

She made all of these preparations with the uneasy feeling that someday her world would come crashing down, but she kept up the pretence.

 

As far as the rest of the world was concerned, they were a normal family. John was a mechanic, Mary was a housewife and their sons were two normal boys. She could almost believe it was true when they went for family road trips, or watched a movie together on the couch, or went out for ice-cream, or ate dinner around the dining table, or played board games, or lay on their backs in the garden making pictures out of clouds. She could almost forget that Dean’s innocence had been stolen when she watched him play on the under-11s baseball team, or when he came home from school beaming because he got a good grade for his homework, or when he helped her bake pies and ended up with flour on his nose, or when he fell asleep in the backseat of the Impala, or when he and his brother dressed up like superheroes and made-believe that they could fly.

 

But every so often the illusion would be shattered. She would go downstairs for a drink of water in the middle of the night and see Dean carefully laying down salt-lines under the doormat and along the window ledges. She would argue with John about agreeing to take Dean to the shooting range. She would take her sons to the library and come back to find Dean pouring through musty old books on ancient mythology and local legends instead of comics.

 

One night she walked past Sammy’s bedroom and overheard her sons talking about monsters. She froze outside the doorway, heart hammering.

 

“…it has big claws and big teeth and it hides under my bed waiting until I fall asleep so it can eat me all up!” Sam cried.

 

“Under your bed, huh? Lemme have a look,” Dean said.

 

“Dean don’t, it’ll get you!”

 

Mary waited with bated breath.

 

“There’s nothing there, Sammy. I even stuck my hand under there to be sure. I still have all my fingers, see? So we’re good.”

 

“Maybe it ran into the closet when you weren’t looking!”

 

The sound of feet padding across the floor and a door squeaking open. “Nothing here either, Sammy. You’re safe, I promise.”

 

“But-”

 

“I wouldn’t ever let anything get you, Sammy. I’m your big brother – I’ll take care of you. You don’t have to worry.”

 

“But don’t _you_ get scared of monsters?”

 

“Nah. I’m big and tough – monsters are scared of _me_.”

 

Sammy giggled.

 

“Besides, there’s an angel watching over us. There’s no reason to be scared, Sammy. Trust me.”

 

“Okay, Dee.”

 

“Good. Now go to sleep.”

 

“Tuck me in?”

 

“’Course. Good night little brother.”

 

“Nigh-night Dean.”

 

Mary slipped away before Dean could find her eavesdropping, but the words of her eldest son continued to echo in her thoughts.

 

If Sammy had come to her crying about a monster under his bed she would have told him there was no such thing as monsters – and it would have been a lie, told to ‘protect’ and shelter him. Dean hadn’t lied. He didn’t deny that monsters were real, but Sammy was still going to sleep feeling safe and secure because Dean promised he would look after him.

 

Was it really so simple? The night of the fire, if she had just told Dean the truth but promised that as a hunter she could protect him, would he have been content? He would have lost some of his innocence, certainly, but at least he would never have had to bear the burden of defending this family. If he had been able to trust his mom to protect him from the big bad world, like any child should, he might have had the chance to just be a kid.

 

But Mary had been so determined to leave the hunting life behind that despite her best intentions she had inadvertently driven Dean towards it. Now she feared it was too late to reverse the damage she had done.

 

She didn’t know what to do. It felt like the only thing she _could_ do was hope… and pray.

 

She knelt down beside her bed, glancing towards the door in the hope that the football game on TV would keep John occupied, and then closed her eyes.

 

“I… uh, don’t really know how this whole prayer thing works,” she confessed. “I don’t exactly come from a religious background. My Dad always told me God wasn’t real, but I hoped he was wrong. I wanted to quit hunting so badly, only – with so much evil out there, how could I? Unless there was a higher power, some sort of greater good that would keep the world in balance even if I stopped fighting. I wanted to trust that there was a God who would take care of things...pick up the slack, I guess. For 10 years I let myself have faith. And then a demon came to my home and destroyed it and… I didn’t know what to believe anymore.

 

“Are you real, God? Is there a Heaven? Are there really angels? My son seems to think an angel saved him and I don’t know if that is true… but I want it to be. I just want Dean to be safe. I don’t want to lose him. Please, God- Heaven- Dean’s guardian angel-whoever is listening, _if_ anyone is listening… please. Please protect my son. I’m begging you.”

 

For Mary, the silence was deafening and she felt like an idiot.

 

But she didn’t go unheard.

 

Castiel was listening, as he had ever been.

 

In the original timeline, when Mary Winchester had prayed over the cribs of her children, the upper management of Heaven had ordered that her prayers go unanswered in the interest of preserving ‘the grand story’. Time and again Castiel was told that he was not allowed to intervene or change fate; that ‘what was meant to be’ had to be.

 

But Dean had changed his own fate.

 

This time around Castiel had every intention of protecting the young Winchester. Dragging him from Hell had not saved him, not really – it had been too little, too late. But maybe Castiel could stop things in this timeline from ever going that far.

 

Chances were that Heaven didn’t want Mary’s latest prayer answered any more than those she had sent up previously. But Castiel was no longer acting under Heaven’s orders and he made the promise gladly.

 

“I will watch over your son, Mary Winchester. You have my word.”

 

ooOOoo


	9. Chapter 9

 

Dean did not go looking for trouble, honestly he didn't. He had every intention of doing what Bobby said and leaving the active hunts until he was older.

 

But somehow trouble always managed to find him.

 

It was lunchtime at school and Dean had opened his lunchbox to find that his Mom had given him the wrong sandwich. There had only been a little bit of peanut butter left in the jar that morning and Dean had given into his brother's puppy dog eyes, asking for marmalade in his so Sammy could have his favourite. But the sandwiches must have gotten mixed up. Dean was tempted to eat the peanut butter sandwich anyway (he didn't really like marmalade that much) but he knew how disappointed Sammy would be (he _hated_ marmalade) so he asked his teacher for permission to visit Sam's class.

 

Sam saw him coming through the window and his whole face lit up. That was all Dean had been trying to do; make Sam happy. What happened next really wasn't his fault.

 

He entered Sammy's classroom and was hit with the overpowering scent of too much perfume. It made him take a closer look at the teacher because that much perfume had to be covering something up, and as a result he noticed the light scattering of yellow powder on her shoulders. It could have been a bad case of dandruff, but the hunter in Dean suspected sulphur. To test his theory, he pretended to trip on his way to Sam's desk and swore with the word "Cristo!"

 

The teacher's eyes flashed black.

 

“Ah, crap,” Dean muttered. A quick glance around told him that he was the only one who had seen – it seemed everyone else had been too busy watching him being a klutz – but he could tell that the demon knew he knew.

 

“Language, young man,” the demon purred. “I expect students in my classroom to have better manners. I think you will have to spend lunchtime in detention with me so you can learn some.”

 

Dean glared, translating the threat for what it was but refusing to be cowed.

 

“Miss Saunders, he didn’t mean to swear,” Sammy spoke up. “He’s sorry, aren’t you Dean?”

 

For outing a demon? “No, not really.” His defiant response drew whispers and snickers from the class.

 

The teacher’s lip curled. “Class, you are dismissed. Remain behind, Mr Winchester.”

 

The class filed out obediently, though Sam hesitated to leave.

 

“Catch,” Dean said, tossing Sam the peanut butter sandwich. “Don’t forget to eat your crusts.”

 

Sam smiled a little. “Thanks, Dean.”

 

“Now go on, get outta here.”

 

Sam reluctantly closed the door behind him, leaving Dean alone with the demon.

 

“Dean, Dean, Dean. Whatever am I going to do with you?”

 

“I wouldn’t do anything if I were you. I’ve got power in my corner that you do not wanna mess with, believe me.”

 

“You mean your angel pal? Yes, I’ve been warned about him. And I’m sorry, Dean, but I’m afraid he won’t be coming to your rescue this time.”

 

Dean felt a flicker of uncertainty. “What do you mean?”

 

“We know he’s been keeping an eye on you so we’ve been keeping our distance, biding our time. Oh, and taking a few precautions… like angel warding this classroom, for example.”

 

Dean had never heard of angel warding before, but it wasn’t difficult to grasp the concept. He paled at the implications.

 

“That’s right, buddy-boy. Your pet angel can’t reach you in here. You’re all mine.”

 

Okay, not good. Dean scrambled backwards and tried to make a break for the door but the invisible force he was all too familiar with caught him and flung him through the air. He knocked through tables and chairs alike before slamming into the wall.

 

“You know, I wasn’t sent here to kill you. I’m just here to watch over your snot-nosed little brother. But killing you is my ticket outta this lame posting and into the _real_ game. I’ll be Azazel’s new favourite. He may even promote me to his second in command, and it is all thanks to you kid.”

 

Dean fought against the demon’s hold but it was too strong.

 

Panic was building up within him but he tried to keep his head, tried to think. He couldn’t draw a Devil’s Trap, his bottle of holy water was in his backpack and he didn’t have any salt on him, but even if he did he couldn’t move. He was stuck. Except…

 

“ _Exorcizamus te_ ,” he muttered.

 

The demon froze. “What did you just say?”

 

Dean kept his voice low, hoping that if he could say the chant fast enough he could exorcise the demon before he realised what was happening. “ _Omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas_ -”

 

The demon jolted inside the teacher’s body. “What-what are you doing?”

 

The language was tricky and Dean was afraid he would stumble over the words or forget some but his life depended on this so he had to try. “ _Omnis incursio infernalis adversarii_ -”

 

“Is that Latin? Are you trying to-” The demon jolted again and roared in pain. “You’re trying to exorcise me, you little punk?”

 

“ _Omnis legio, omnis congregat_ \- mfff!” Dean’s voice cut off as the invisible force closed over his mouth, sealing his lips together.

 

The demon stalked towards him, fury blazing in its eyes. “You’re going to pay for that.”

 

Pain ripped through Dean’s chest and he tried to scream but no sound escaped. All of a sudden he was four years old again, stuck to the ceiling and utterly helpless.

 

The demon smirked. “That’s better. Children should be seen, not heard.”

 

Dean bypassed panic and moved straight into full blown terror. In desperation he called out for his angel, futile though it may be.

 

_Cas. CAS! I’m in trouble. At the school, Sammy’s classroom- but it’s warded. You can’t- but I don’t know what to do! Sammy’s teacher is a demon, I tried to exorcise him but he’s got me- He’s gonna kill me, Cas. Do something, help me, please! Please…_

 

But Cas couldn’t come. Dean was alone. He was going to die. He was really going to die this time-

 

The door burst open.

 

“Dean!”

 

Dean’s eyes strained to see the newcomer and he was shocked to recognise Bobby.

 

“Who the hell are you?” the demon demanded.

 

“Oh, just an old drunk who is about to bust your ass.”

 

Bobby hoisted up a large bucket of water and threw it over the teacher. The demon screamed as steam exploded from its meatsuit and Dean dropped to the ground.

 

Dean heaved in a breath. _“-congregatio et secta diabolica... Ergo, draco maledicte et omnis legio diabolica, adjuramus te_ -”

 

The demon shrieked but Bobby threw a handful of salt in its eyes. “Keep going, boy!”

 

Dean rattled off the spell he had memorised, gaining speed and volume. The demon was choking and spluttering, black smoke beginning to cough up out of his lungs. “…te rogamus, audi nos!"

 

Black smoke billowed out of the teacher’s mouth, gathered in the air and then plunged into the floor, blackening a patch of the carpet. The teacher collapsed.

 

Dean stared at Bobby and Bobby stared back.

 

“What happened?” they both asked.

 

“How did you get here?” Dean persisted. “I thought you were back in Sioux Falls!”

 

“I was! Some random guy turned up in my kitchen, pushed that bucket into my arms and then suddenly I was standing outside the door of some classroom. I looked in and saw that black-eyed bastard ripping the life outta ya so I flung water first and asked questions later. But now I’m asking questions. Where am I, how did I get here, and what the hell is going on?”

 

“Was the guy wearing a tan trenchcoat?” Dean asked shrewdly.

 

“Yes…?”

 

Miss Saunders groaned, beginning to regain consciousness. Dean glanced around nervously, realising that from the standpoint of anyone not in the know about monsters this really did not look good. “Okay, well I’d love to explain but first I think we should get out of here.”

 

“Probably a good idea,” Bobby admitted.

 

Dean moved to the doorway and peeked out. The coast was clear for now, but getting out of the school without being seen would be nearly impossible.

 

“Cas?” Dean called softly. Certain that his angel was listening, he gestured for Bobby to follow him outside. When they had made it three feet from the classroom there was a rustle of wings and the feeling of a hand on their shoulders. An abrupt change of surroundings left them standing in a car yard bearing the sign ‘Singer Auto Self-Service Salvage Yard’.

 

Bobby stumbled when he landed, managed to catch himself and then stared around in bewilderment at his home. “What in god’s name-?”

 

“Do not use my father’s name in vain.”

 

Bobby whirled around and came face to face with an angel in a trench coat.

 

“Bobby, I’d like you to meet Castiel,” Dean said.

 

Cas inclined his head respectfully. “Hello, Robert Singer.”

 

“Who the hell are you?”

 

Cas frowned. “Castiel.”

 

“Yeah, I got that,” Bobby said sarcastically. “I mean _what_ are you?”

 

“He’s an angel.”

 

“There’s no such thing.”

 

“Normal people would say that about monsters,” Dean pointed out. “I know he doesn’t look the part, but he’s the real deal. Trust me. His wings are just invisible.”

 

Bobby insisted on doing all of the usual monster tests but when they all turned up negative he still did not look convinced. It took the cut from the silver knife healing over in a matter of seconds to make him reconsider. “You’re seriously trying to tell me that you have an angel on your shoulder.”

 

“No, Dean’s shoulder could not bear my weight,” Cas said.

 

Dean smirked, ridiculously fond of how literal Cas was sometimes. “He’s a friend, Bobby. He watches out for me – has done since I was little. He’s the reason we met, as a matter of fact.”

 

Bobby’s eyes narrowed. “So when you said an angel told you I was a hunter…”

 

“That was me,” Cas confirmed.

 

“Right. And you neglected to tell me you were pals with a celestial being because…?”

 

“I dunno. Guess I’m in the habit of keeping him a secret. Sorry.”

 

Bobby raised his cap to scrub a hand through his thinning hair. “Okay. Okay. I can sense there is a very long story behind all of this, but let’s keep to the basics for now. What happened at the school? I thought we agreed that you wouldn’t try to hunt on your own.”

 

“I didn’t mean to. I accidentally found out that my brother’s teacher was possessed. I usually call Cas when this sort of thing happens-”

 

“You meet demons a lot?”

 

“Uh, yeah, more than I’d like. That’s why I asked you to teach me the exorcism and stuff.”

 

“Nice job with that, by the way,” Bobby said and Dean felt a burst of pride. He couldn’t remember the last time his Dad had said that to him, and he didn’t think the other Dean’s Dad had ever said it.  He was _expected_ to do a good job; Dad would only ever comment if he didn’t.

 

“But go on,” Bobby prompted.

 

“So I was gonna call Cas, but the demon said the classroom was warded against angels.”

 

“It is,” Cas confirmed. “Enochian symbols are emblazoned on the walls; I couldn’t get in. They also blocked me from sensing the demon’s presence.”

 

Dean nodded. He had figured as much. “I wasn’t sure I was gonna make it out of there. But I prayed anyway, and you came through Cas. Just like always.”

 

“You came and got me,” Bobby realised. “That was some quick thinking.”

 

“You have no idea how relieved I was when you showed up,” Dean said. “Thanks Bobby.”

 

“No trouble.”

 

“But one thing I don’t get – why was a demon possessing my little brother’s teacher and not mine? He said he had been sent there to keep an eye on Sammy. But what would demons want with him? I thought I was the one they were after.”

 

Castiel didn’t reply straight away.  


“Cas…?”

 

“Dean… the night of the fire. Azazel did try to kill you, but that was not the reason he was there.”

 

Dean struggled to remember. The pain and the fear and the heat stood out the strongest in his memories, but he did vaguely recall that the demon had stuck him to the ceiling to get him out of the way. To stop him interfering.

 

Dean had looked down, terrified and bleeding-

 

Blood. The demon had dripped blood into Sammy’s mouth.

 

“What-what did he do? Cas, what did the yellow-eyed demon do to my little brother?”

 

“I do not know for certain.”

 

That was _not_ what Dean wanted to hear. “What happens when a baby swallows demon blood?”

 

“There are no immediate effects…”

 

Dean’s eyes narrowed as he recognised the avoidance tactic for what it was. Cas had lived in the future – well, a version of the future – and he had to know more than he was saying. “And later?”

 

“It is complicated, Dean.”

 

“ _Don’t_ start that with me again! Sammy is my responsibility. If anything bad happens to him, I swear-”

 

“Sam will be fine as long as we can keep him away from demonic influences. His physiology is slightly altered, but it won’t harm him. Azazel is the true threat, to both of you.”

 

“So we need to kill him. Right the hell now.”

 

“It is not that easy. According to the original timeline Azazel does not surface again until 2005.”

 

Dean didn’t bother to do the math. A _month_ was too long to wait to put this bastard in the ground, let alone years. “That’s not good enough! We should draw him out into the open, force a fight. We can use me as bait if we have to! Anything to protect Sammy.”

 

“No, Dean. I will not take any action that endangers your life. Besides, if the demons know to use angel warding then they know about me. Azazel is not foolish enough to be drawn into a direct confrontation with an angel.”

 

“Well what then?”

 

“I’m sorry, Dean. All we can do at this stage is watch out for your brother and keep him as far away from hunting as possible.”

 

Dean stood there, shaking, fists clenched at his side. His blood was boiling and he itched for a fight, still filled with adrenaline from his latest near-death experience, needing something to swing at to take away this feeling of utter helplessness.

 

“Hey, kid, c’mere,” Bobby said, reaching out to him. Dean stiffened, restless and angry and not in the mood to be comforted – right up until Bobby tugged him into his arms, squeezed him tight and said “It’s okay to be scared, son.” Dean struggled mightily to stop tears from welling up in his eyes. “Let it out, kid. Come on.” Dean slumped, the fight draining out of him. Bobby patted his back gently. “That’s it. It’s okay.”

 

Dean shook his head weakly. “It’s not.” It was one thing for Dean to be in danger – he was used to it by now – but he couldn’t stand the thought of anything happening to Sam. From the sounds of things the demons had a not-good plan for Sam and he didn’t know if he could stop it. All he knew was that he couldn’t bear to lose his little brother. He couldn’t.

 

Bobby withdrew slightly to hold him at arm’s length. “Look, I don’t pretend to know what the hell is going on. Angels and demon blood and ‘original timelines’ – it is all a bit beyond me. But you’ve got an angel looking out for you and your brother, and for what it’s worth you’ve got me, too. We’ll figure this out. And if shit’s going to go down in 2005 then that means we will have plenty of time to prepare. That SOB turns up to hurt you or Sam, we’ll be ready. Okay?”

 

Dean nodded shakily.

 

Bobby clapped him on the shoulder. “Okay then. Castiel, why don’t you get Dean home? Folks must have noticed he’s missing by now.”

 

“Of course.”

 

A stern edge entered Bobby’s tone. “Then you come straight back here. You and I need to have a conversation.”

 

Cas frowned a little but didn’t argue. With a two-fingered tap to Dean’s forehead he zapped Dean into his bedroom.

 

Dean’s arms slipped around himself in a self-hug as he waited for his angel to leave him there alone.

 

Cas paused and looked back. “Are you okay, Dean?”

 

Dean donned a smile he didn’t quite feel. “Yeah.”

 

With a flutter of wings, Cas vanished.

 

ooOOoo


	10. Chapter 10

The events and revelations of the past hour had been almost too much for Dean to handle. Left alone in the silence of his room, he knew he was going to lose it if he didn’t find a way to sort out the mess inside his head. He dragged his hunter’s journal out from his sock drawer and began to write and sketch out the basics of what had happened. He had more pieces of the puzzle that was his weird meshed up life/other life but he still didn’t know what it all was supposed to add up to.

 

Demons. Angels. Demon blood. Sam. An alternate reality. Changing the past. Not existing in the future. Being on a demon’s hit list. Hunting. Future. Plans. Destiny.

 

All Dean knew for certain was that something big was coming, and somehow he had ended up right in the middle of it.

 

The sound of a door slamming and movement downstairs interrupted Dean’s thoughts.

 

“…John? You’re home early…”

 

“…call from the school… Dean here?”

 

“…not that I know of…why…what happened?”

 

“I intend to find out. DEAN!”

 

Dean swallowed and shrank back into the corner of his room. Maybe if he stayed quiet enough they would think he wasn’t here.

 

Footsteps pounded up the stairs and before Dean could weigh the risks of climbing out his window the bedroom door burst open.

 

“Dean!”

 

Uh oh. He looked angry. Really angry. “Um, hi, Dad.”

 

“Don’t ‘hi, Dad’ me, son. You are in big trouble young man.”

 

Mom appeared in the doorway. “John, what happened?”

 

“Dean attacked a teacher is what happened.”

 

“ _What_?”

 

“I didn’t-” Dean started.

 

“Don’t lie to me, Dean Winchester,” Dad growled. “The school told me everything.”

 

Dean knew that the school couldn’t have told him the real story because his dad would never have believed it. But the way he had left things there had to be a lot of unanswered questions, and it seemed like someone had filled in the blanks with a story that somehow painted Dean as the bad guy.

 

“Whatever they told you it isn’t true.”

 

“There were witnesses, Dean. Your own _brother_ was a witness. You mouthed off to Sam’s teacher and got in trouble for it. The other students left you alone with her to go out to recess. Half an hour later Miss Saunders staggered into the sick bay, soaked to the skin, sporting a lump on her head the size of a tennis ball and she had _no memory_ of the past two weeks!”

 

Two weeks? How had it taken Dean two whole weeks to notice that a demon was walking around his school?

 

“You were the last person seen with her so naturally the principal wanted to ask you what had happened. But you had run off, leaving school grounds in the middle of the school day _without permission_. How do you think that looks?”

 

Dean didn’t have a good answer for that.

 

“What happened, Dean?” Mom asked gently.

 

 _I exorcised a demon and gave Miss Saunders her life back, probably saving Sammy in the process,_ he wanted to say. But they wouldn’t believe him. Best case, they would call him a liar. Worst case, they would call him crazy.

 

“Miss Saunders did get me in trouble. She told me I had to spend lunchtime picking up rubbish and sent me out with a bucket. I found a mouldy old sandwich wedged under a bench and it smelled so gross I nearly puked everywhere. I wasn’t feeling well so I came home. I don’t know what happened to Miss Saunders, but it didn’t have anything to do with me. Sounds like she slipped in a puddle of water and knocked herself out. Maybe someone’s water bottle was leaking – I don’t know. But I didn’t attack her.”

 

Dad did not look convinced; if anything he looked even angrier than before. “Nice story, Dean. But if you were really sick you would have gone to the sick bay and they would have called your mother to come and pick you up. You fled the scene. That is as good as an admission of guilt.”

 

“I didn’t do anything!”

 

“Tell us what really happened or this will only get worse for you. As it is, you have been suspended from school for the rest of this week and I am grounding you for the rest of the month!”

 

“That’s not fair! I didn’t hurt anyone!”

 

“It is obvious that you did, and since you can’t even come up with a good excuse the attack must have been unprovoked. I am ashamed of you Dean. We raised you better than this.”

 

“Why don’t you ever believe me?”

 

“Because you are a chronic liar, Dean. I don’t know where you got it from but you have been telling fibs ever since the night of that fire.”

 

“I told you the _truth!_ ” Dean screamed. “Demons are _real,_ Dad! A demon set that fire and tried to kill me, and a demon was possessing Sam’s teacher until I exorcised it! And you know what, I lie to you because you wouldn’t know a monster if it bit you on the ass!”

 

“How _dare_ you speak to me that way? I am your father!”

 

“No! My father is a badass hunter who saves people! He’s a friggin’ hero! You’re just a mechanic who is too afraid to face the truth!”

 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

 

“It means I am sick of babying you! You treat me like a kid but I’m the one protecting this family.”

 

Dad scoffed. “From what? Make-believe monsters?”

 

“From demons who would skin you alive and eat you for breakfast if it wasn’t for me.”

 

“Demons. What is all this satanic bull crap you’re spouting? You into Devil worship or something?”

 

“No-”

 

Dad spied the journal that had fallen open on the floor. He swiped it up and shoved a sketch of a Devil’s trap in Dean’s face. “Then what is this?”

 

“A trap for demons-”

 

“It is a pentagram, Dean!” Dad flipped roughly through the pages, growing more and more furious with each new drawing of a monster he came across. “So this is what it is about. Your sick obsession with monsters. I thought we stamped that out of you in Kindergarten, but you are a better liar than I thought. Well, better late than never…” With that he tore a page from the book and ripped it to shreds.

 

Dean lurched forward. “No!”

 

“John, wait-”

 

“No, Mary, we tried your way. No more molly-coddling. This ends _now_.” He tore out another page.

 

“Dad, that’s important!”

 

“John, please-”

 

He pushed the beseeching hands off him and continued to rip apart the pages of Dean’s journal until they were reduced to tattered pieces scattered on the floor.

 

Dad threw the empty leather cover on the floor with finality. “It is over, Dean. No more monsters, no more Satanism. I expect to see a marked improvement in both your behaviour and grades by the end of this year and to make sure that happens, you are grounded until school is out for the summer.”

 

“But Dad-”

 

“I could extend it until Christmas if you prefer.”

 

Dean dropped his gaze. “No, sir.”

 

“Good. This discussion is over.”

 

Dad turned on his heel and strode from the room. Mom lingered.

 

“Dean…”

 

Dean threw himself face down on his bed, blocking her out. “Leave me alone!”

 

She quietly withdrew and Dean screamed all of his frustration into his pillow.

 

If he didn’t scream he would cry.

 

ooOOoo

 

“Cas?”

 

The hesitant call came through angel radio and Castiel responded immediately, worried that Dean was in trouble again.

 

“Whoa, Cas, stand down!” Dean exclaimed.

 

Castiel lowered his angel blade when a quick glance around Dean’s bedroom revealed that it was void of threats. “Oh. My apologies.”

 

Dean waved it off. “It’s all good. If it had been an emergency you would have been right on the ball.”

 

Castiel tilted his head to the side. “What sort of emergency would involve a sporting competition?”

 

Dean raised his eyebrows. “Haven’t you ever watched an NFL game? When your favourite team is losing it is _definitely_ an emergency.”

 

“NFL?”

 

“Football. Seriously man, you gotta catch a game sometime. It’s awesome.”

 

“It sounds stressful.”

 

Dean laughed. “Nah, only if you take it too seriously. Which, okay, you might, but – I’ll take you to a game one day, okay? It’ll be fun.”

 

Castiel was not quite sure what to make of the offer. He had observed various sporting events over the centuries, but he had never taken much interest in the strange forms of friendly battle the humans had invented. However, accompanying Dean to a football game did not sound entirely unpleasant.

 

“I think… I would like that,” Castiel admitted.

 

Dean’s face lit up with a smile that began with a slight curve to his lips and shone in his eyes. Cas stared, entranced, until the smile suddenly faltered and fell away.

 

“Dean, what is it?”

 

“I was gonna suggest next Saturday, but I just remembered that I’m grounded.”

 

Castiel squinted a little, not sure how the term ‘grounded’ could apply to a human. “You could fly before? But you don’t have wings.”

 

“No, it’s a punishment for what happened at school. My dad won’t let me go anywhere or do anything. Not that I _have_ friends to do stuff with…”

 

“A punishment? Dean, you did not do anything wrong.”

 

“Tell that to my Dad, or Sam’s teacher, or the principal, or the other kids in my class. They all think I’m some sort of out-of-control violent psycho nut job who could crack again any second. The only reason they haven’t expelled me is that they have no actual proof that I hurt Miss Saunders. Hasn’t stopped the rumours though.”

 

“They shouldn’t judge you without evidence.”

 

Dean shrugged. “Can’t really blame them. And it’s not like I was super popular to begin with. The couple of kids who didn’t think I was a freak show do now, but hey, it’s their loss, right?”

 

“Yes, it is,” Cas said seriously.

 

Dean flushed a little and looked down at the floor, scuffing his foot on the carpet. “What do I need friends for though? The one I have is worth a million of them.”

 

Cas felt a strange pang of something unfamiliar, almost like an… emotion of some sort. “To whom are you referring?”

 

Dean offered a shy smile. “You, dummy.”

 

Friend. This was not the first time Dean had identified him as such, but for some reason this time it seemed to mean more.

 

“Why did you call me?” Cas asked.

 

“Oh.” Dean rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks colouring with embarrassment. “I was just… kinda lonely. Did – did I interrupt something important?”

 

“No. Watching bees is not of particular importance to me, but it does pass the time between hunts.”

 

“Wait, what? You’re an angel. Don’t you have angel things to do? Or, like, angel friends to hang out with during your down time?”

 

“The angels are my brothers and sisters. There are no ‘friendships’ between us as humans would understand them, but we do tend to share stronger bonds with the angels in our garrison.”

 

“So why don’t you spend time with them?”

 

“I cannot. I am not from this timeline, Dean. I am an anomaly and if I were to return to Heaven it would cause a dangerous paradox. If I attempted to re-join my garrison I would be cast out for my discretions – probably by this timeline’s version of me.”

 

“There’s another Cas floating around up there?”

 

“Technically yes, but we are not the same. He does not know you. He has not lost half of his garrison in a doomed siege. He has not doubted. He has not broken the rules or interfered with destiny. He is a good soldier.”

 

“Hey, you’re not bad yourself. I keep, well, I _kept_ a tally of all the monsters you killed and the people you saved until my dad destroyed my hunter journal… my point is, you’re like a one-man army. Heaven would be lucky to have you.”

 

“You don’t understand. For an angel, obedience is everything. I was expressly ordered not to interfere with your life until after the wheels of destiny began to turn, no matter how much I wanted to. When I allowed the other you to change history I laid waste to centuries of careful planning, and to make matters worse I turned up in Sam’s nursery that night. We were not supposed to meet until you were an adult.”

 

“I would have died if you hadn’t turned up when you did.”

 

“True. I think that is why the angels have allowed my unsanctioned activities to go unchecked for so long. They have plans for you.”

 

“Like what?”

 

Castiel thought about the Righteous Man, the prophesies, the seals and the impending apocalypse. He thought about how Dean was expected to ‘finish it’, presumably saving the world. But Castiel was just a foot soldier – the archangels had only kept him informed on a need-to-know basis. Part of him had wondered why he had not been permitted to respond to Dean’s desperate prayer for the life of his brother after Jake stabbed him, when a miracle in that moment of need would have meant Dean did not have to resort to making a demon deal, thus preventing the breaking of the first seal. He wondered why his garrison had been sent in so late and so under-equipped. He wondered whether the demons had managed to stay one step ahead, or whether everything had gone according to Heaven’s plans… but it was not his place to question.

 

“I don’t know, Dean. I’m sorry.”

 

Dean sighed. “Okay, well, we’ll work that out too I guess. Add it to the ‘to do’ list. But until then… if Heaven won’t have you, you’re welcome to hang out with me when you have time. I think we could both use the company.”

 

“I am unfamiliar with the etiquette for casual social interaction among humans.”

 

“That’s alright, I’ll teach you. Lesson one – video games!”

 

Dean beamed at him and Cas couldn’t help but smile back.

 

ooOOoo


	11. Chapter 11

Dean’s teenage years crept up on him. He was so caught up in school work, physical training, navigating family dramas and trying to introduce Cas to all of the best experiences humanity had to offer that he barely noticed how his life was changing.

 

It struck him one morning, though, when he looked in the bathroom mirror and saw a young man staring back. Seemingly overnight he had shot up at least three inches and his muscles had filled out. His jaw and cheekbones were more defined and there was even a faint trace of stubble on his chin. He wasn’t a weak, scrawny kid anymore – he had grown up.

 

“Dude, stop fixing your hair and budge over so I can brush my teeth,” Sam said.

 

Dean smirked down at his little brother. “I can fix yours instead if you like.” He reached out and dragged Sam into a headlock to give him a thorough noogie, laughing as Sam yelped and squirmed under the relentless attack of his knuckles.

 

“ _Deeaann_!” Sam whined and Dean let him go.

 

“Look at that. Much better,” he joked.

 

Sam glared at him through the tangle of hair hanging over his eyes. “Jerk.”

 

“Bitch,” Dean replied smugly. He sauntered out of the bathroom, throwing over his shoulder “If you can’t comb it out I’d be happy to give you a haircut!”

 

He could practically feel the heat of Sam’s bitch face on his back as he walked away and made sure he laughed loud enough for Sam to hear it.

 

“Dean, stop teasing your brother and eat your breakfast,” Mom chided.

 

Dean swiped up a slice of toast and shoved most of it into his mouth. “S’rry Mom.”

 

“And don’t talk with your mouth full!”

 

Dean grinned and his mom averted her eyes from the half-chewed bread practically spewing out onto the floor. “Honestly, child, where did you learn your manners?”

 

Dean gulped loudly and snagged another piece of toast, repeating the feat to make his mother roll her eyes. Okay, so maybe he wasn’t as grown up as he thought, but he had to balance the serious weight-of-the-world hunter side of himself with _some_ immaturity, right?

 

“Come on, Sam, you’re going to make us late,” Mom called.

 

Sam came into the kitchen and Dean was amused to see that his hair was not looking much better. “Seriously dude, give me two minutes with a pair of scissors…”

 

Sam flung himself down at the table, smearing peanut butter on his toast and munching it with all the moodiness of a pre-teen.

 

Mom shot Dean a look and moved to comb her fingers through the tangles, smoothing Sam’s hair back into place. “You look fine, sweetheart.”

 

“Yeah, Sammy, I’m sure the girls will be showing an interest in you any time now…”

 

“What about you? I don’t see _you_ with a girlfriend.”

 

Huh. Dean had never even thought about asking a girl out on a date. His life was kind of hectic, and any spare time he had he tended to spend with Cas. “That’s because there are too many hot chicks to choose from.”

 

“Sure, sure.”

 

Dean shrugged. “What can I say, man? I’m a babe magnet.” It wasn’t a complete lie. The girls at school did bat their eyelashes at him and giggle in groups when he walked past, but he wasn’t really interested in pursuing any of them. He didn’t know why. The other version of himself seemed to like ‘chasing tail’, but Dean had to wonder how much of that was borne of a desperate desire to get out of those crappy motel rooms. His dream counter-part didn’t seem to get much else out of it, although admittedly he never had the chance to form any lasting relationships. For some reason, Dean couldn’t imagine finding a girl and settling down with her in this timeline either.

 

“I bet you the last piece of left-over pie that you couldn’t convince a girl to go out with you,” Sam said smugly.

 

Dean raised his eyebrows. “You’re on.” He was never one to back down from a challenge, especially not when Mom’s home-made pie was at stake. Besides, it might be nice to try the whole ‘being normal’ thing for a change.

 

“Come on, boys, time to get going,” Mom said.

 

For the rest of the school day Dean was entirely preoccupied with persistent thoughts about dating and girlfriends. He found himself looking more closely at the girls around him, beginning to notice what other Dean would. They _were_ hot, with their lush hair and smooth skin and curves in all the right places. There was one girl in particular who caught his attention; Ally Winehouse was a classic beauty with sparkling blue eyes and dark brown hair that lightly brushed her shoulders. She caught Dean checking her out and winked at him.

 

Dean felt his mouth go dry. The other Dean would have had a snappy pick-up line to use and they would be in the janitor’s closet making out within five minutes, but he just stammered awkwardly: “Um, hi, Ally. You-um-you look pretty today.”

 

She smiled sweetly at him. “Thanks, handsome.”

 

Dean flushed and before he could think of something more to say the bell had rung for class.

 

“See you around, Dean,” Ally said.

 

“Yeah, uh-” he started, but she had already disappeared into the crowd of students and soon the hallways were empty. “-you too.”

 

Dean couldn’t concentrate in chemistry class on the best of days, and today he gave up altogether in favour of sketching absently in the back of his diary. He drew a pair of blue eyes while the teacher was rambling on about covalent bonds, but started adding more details without really paying attention when the teacher started explaining their homework assignment.

 

He looked down at his picture later and was startled to see that had ended up drawing Cas. He had drawn his angel a lot as a kid, trying to prove to himself that the man who had saved him the night of the fire had not been a figment of his imagination, so he was probably just reverting to a familiar subject. He shook his head and flipped the pages of the diary to the current calendar date so he could write in his homework.

 

At lunchtime he saw Ally again, filling her tray at the counter in the cafeteria. He slid up beside her, trying to act smooth. “Hey Ally.”

 

He must have been too stealthy in his approach, though, because she jumped in surprise. With hunter-honed reflexes Dean caught her tray before she could spill it everywhere. “Whoa, sorry! Don’t worry, I’ve got it.”

 

“Dean!”

 

“Yeah. Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said sheepishly.

 

“No, it’s fine. Hey yourself.”

 

He tried to mask his nervousness with a flirty smile. “Uh, so, have you got someone to sit with?”

 

Ally glanced to her friend, and Dean wanted to face-palm because he should have noticed her standing _right_ there next to Ally, but the girl just grinned and said “I just remembered that I have to go do a – thing – over there. Yep. See you later Ally!”

 

Ally rolled her eyes at her friend’s lack of subtlety, but she didn’t seem upset when she answered Dean’s question with, “Guess not, then.”

 

“Would you like to sit outside, maybe? With me, I mean? It’s a nice day.”

 

Ally smiled and slipped her arm around his. “Sounds good.”

 

Dean felt awkward and uncertain as he led her out into the courtyard, but things seemed to be going okay so far.

 

He perched on the bench next to her, not sure whether he should sit close enough so their knees were touching or to give her space. This was all new territory to him. He wasn’t even sure he knew how to talk to a girl, or people his own age really. He was making this up as he went.

 

They made awkward small talk about school and classes for a while. Dean wished he could talk about how he was a monster-hunting hero because that would make him loads more interesting if it didn’t scare her off, which admittedly it probably would. He made a joke about their history teacher’s toupee which made her laugh, though, and that gave him more confidence.

 

“So, I was thinking, if you’re free on Saturday…” Dean trailed off, his gaze catching on a familiar figure who was standing just outside the school gates. He would know that trench coat anywhere.

 

“Yes?” Ally prompted.

 

“Hm, what?” Dean looked back to her but he knew Cas wouldn’t have turned up here if it wasn’t important. “Um, sorry, I need to – I’ll be back in a second.”

 

“Dean-”

 

But he had stopped listening. He left her staring after him in disbelief as he rushed over to where Castiel waited

 

“Hey Cas, what’s-?” Dean stopped short. Something was wrong. _Seriously_ wrong. His angel looked ghostly pale and his eyes were glassy. “Cas? Are you okay?”

 

Cas swayed alarmingly and Dean grabbed his arm to steady him. “Whoa! Cas, what’s wrong?”

 

Castiel’s gaze flitted to his face but he seemed to be having trouble focusing. “Dean?”

 

Dean cupped his angel’s face with his hands, trying to lock their eyes together to bring Cas back to him. “Yeah, Cas, it’s me.”

 

“I made it,” Cas croaked. “I’m very surprised.” His knees started to buckle.

 

Dean acted fast, ducking into his side to catch him around the waist and keep him upright. It was a testament to how much he had grown that he was actually able to bear the angel’s weight, if only just.

 

“Come on, man, talk to me.” Dean could not keep the panic out of his voice. He had never seen his angel like this. “Are you hurt?” He didn’t think Cas _could_ get hurt.

 

When there was no reply Dean went looking for the answer, yanking open Castiel’s trench coat and then his suit jacket.

 

His white shirt was soaked in blood.

 

For a moment Dean’s mind went blank. The sight of blood was nothing new to him but it was usually his own blood and miraculous healing was only ever a prayer away. This time Cas was the one bleeding. There was so much blood. The tables were turned and Dean didn’t know what to do. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Cas was supposed to be invincible.

 

“I’ll be fine,” Cas rasped. “I just…need…” But before he could finish the sentence his eyes rolled back into his head and he dropped like a stone. Dean went down with him, cushioning the fall to make sure Castiel’s head didn’t hit the concrete.

 

“Okay. Okay. Think, Dean. _Think_! You know this.” He had never learned first aid, but the alternate version of himself had been patching up Dad’s wounds since he was five years old. “Check for breathing.” He wasn’t even sure if angels needed to breathe, but Dean held a hand above Castiel’s mouth and nose anyway and he was relieved to feel slight puffs of air against his skin. “Pulse.” There was a steady beat beneath his questing fingers. Okay, so Cas was just out cold. “Stop the bleeding.” He yanked the shirt open, heedless of the buttons that popped off and scattered, and tossed the tie out of the way. It was a knife wound, long and jagged and still oozing blood. Dean pulled his own t-shirt off over his head, wadded it and pressed it tightly over the wound.

 

But then what? Any normal person would call an ambulance. But Cas was an angel and sure, his outside looked human but what if his insides weren’t? They could lock him up or do experiments on him or something. Dean didn’t know how to treat an angel’s wounds, though. Other Dean would sew the wound closed with a needle and dental floss, but Dean didn’t have those on hand. There was also the matter of being out in the open where anyone could see them and attack or ask questions they couldn’t answer or call the police.

 

“Cas?” Dean patted the angel’s cheek. “Cas, man, I’m sorry, but you have to wake up.” He patted more urgently. “Cas!” This time he slapped him. Hard.

 

Castiel’s eyes flew open and they were glowing blue and Dean almost recoiled at the rage and violence burning in their depths but he knew he had to keep holding pressure on the wound so he stood his ground. “Cas, it’s me! It’s Dean!”

  
Cas blinked. “Dean.”

 

“Yeah. We’re not safe here, Cas. You’re hurt. You came to get me and I want to help but I need to get you home and I don’t have a car and no taxi will take us and-”

 

Dean heard the tell-tale flutter of wings but they crash landed; Dean was thrown into his chest of drawers so hard that he nearly lost consciousness himself and Cas actually made a dent in the floor.

 

“Cas, keep pressure on that wound!” Dean ordered, putting Castiel’s hand over the shirt and pressing down hard to illustrate. If anything Cas looked worse than before but he was conscious and he matched the pressure Dean was applying so Dean scrambled up and ran for medical supplies. He grabbed a needle from his Mom’s sewing kit and floss from the bathroom and a bottle of whiskey from Dad’s alcohol cabinet and a clean sheet from the cupboard to tear into bandages. He fumbled in threading the floss through the eye of the needle but got it done and quickly prepared some bandage strips before he returned to Cas.

 

“This is going to hurt,” Dean warned. He gave Cas a swig of the whiskey while he removed the wadding and then used what was left to wash away the blood and sterilize the wound. It was terrifying and awful but Dean started to sew together the edges of the wound, working off the memories of dreams and hoping to god that he wasn’t doing more harm than good. Cas passed out again halfway through but Dean gritted his teeth and kept going until the wound was closed and tightly bandaged.

 

Only then did he let himself bolt for the bathroom to puke his guts out. He was shaking and pale and sweaty and still panicking, but he forcibly dragged himself back under control. Cas had saved his life god knows how many times by now, and it was Dean’s turn to return the favour. He was not about to let his angel down now.

 

He dampened a cloth with water and used it to clean the blood and dirt from Castiel’s skin. He removed the remnants of his shirt and hung his coats up in the wardrobe. He lifted Castiel’s dead weight off the floor and settled him onto the bed, trying to make him as comfortable as possible.

 

Then he sat back, and drew in a deep steadying breath.

 

“…Dean?”

 

He whirled around.

 

His mother was standing in the doorway.

 

ooOOoo


	12. Chapter 12

“Mom… I can explain.”

 

For a long moment she just stood there staring at him, her expression unreadable.

 

“It’s not what it looks like,” Dean tried. He was home in the middle of a school day without permission, he was covered in blood that wasn’t his own and he had a half-naked injured man lying unconscious on his bed. He wasn’t really sure _what_ it looked like, but it couldn’t be good.

 

“I think it is exactly what it looks like,” she said. “A hunt gone wrong.”

 

Now it was Dean’s turn to stare in shock at his mother. He couldn’t believe those words had come out of her mouth. Had she really just said a _hunt?_ She could have guessed that he had been involved in a fight or a brawl or a car accident or something –but she had said a _hunt_. Like she knew what that was. Like she knew what that meant.

 

“You could have been killed, Dean. You could have been ripped to shreds and we would have never known where you were or what had happened to you. How could you do that to your family?”

 

She was using her lecturing voice, the one she used when his room was a mess or when he got bad grades or when he put Nair in Sam’s shampoo. But she was talking about hunting. She _knew_ about hunting.

 

“How long?” Dean asked, when he was finally able to force words out. “How long have you known?”

 

She faltered. “About you?”

 

“About hunting. About monsters. How long, Mom? How long have you been lying to me?”

 

“Dean-”

 

“Are you a hunter?”

 

“No.”

 

“ _Are you a hunter?”_

 

“I used to be.”

 

Dean staggered back. He had suspected, but to hear her say it, _admit_ it just like that…

 

“It was more than 20 years ago, Dean. I quit. I got out of the hunting life before it could get me killed and I don’t regret-”

 

“You _lied_ to me!” Dean shouted. “A demon nearly killed me when I was four years old and you _lied to my face_. You told me monsters weren’t real! I _needed_ someone. I was scared and alone and I thought no one believed me! But you _knew_!”

 

“Yes. I did. But Dean, what I did – what I said – I did it for your own good.”

 

“My own _good?_ ”

 

“Yes! I grew up in the life, Dean. My parents were hunters and they taught me everything they knew. I killed my first monster when I was twelve and every evening after school my father would have me cleaning guns and smelting silver bullets. I ended up in hospital more times than I could count. I had to watch my father kill a girl in my class who had been turned into a werewolf. I had more than enough reasons to quit, but after a demon murdered my parents I swore I was done hunting for good. You know why? Because I wanted a better life for my children. I wanted my family to be safe. I wanted to keep you as far away from hunting as I could.”

 

“Well you did a bang up job.”

 

“I tried my best, Dean.”

 

“That’s not good enough! Do you have any idea how many nights I spent crying into my pillow, too scared to sleep, too scared to go into your room for a hug because you would just scoff at the idea of monsters and send me away? I was terrified and I had _no one_! You are my mom! You should have been there for me. You should have been protecting me!”

 

“I know, I should have. But I hoped that night would just become a bad dream that you could forget about. I wanted you to be able to live the normal life I never got to.”

 

“A demon wants me dead, Mom. My life is never going to be normal. In fact, if it wasn’t for Cas I would be dead a dozen times over.”

 

“Cas?”

 

Dean jerked his thumb towards the bed. “Mr Comatose over there. The ‘figment of my imagination’ that I ‘made up’ to cope with the trauma of my home burning down around my ears.”

 

“This is the angel who saved you?”

 

Dean narrowed his eyes. “So now you know about angels too?”

 

“No, I just- I remember you said… But he isn’t what I expected.”

 

“Don’t mention harps, halos and fluffy wings to his face – he doesn’t like it when people stereotype him.”

 

“It’s not that. He just looks so… vulnerable, lying there like that, wrapped in bandage- is that one of my bed sheets?”

 

“He was bleeding out all over the floor,” Dean said, and the tone of his voice made it more than clear that he could care less about her precious bed linen.

 

Mom wisely didn’t argue the point. “What could possibly hurt an angel?”

 

Unconsciously, Dean rubbed at the dried blood on his hands. “I don’t know. But whatever did this, I am going to hunt it down and kick its ass!”

 

“No! Dean, it nearly killed an _angel_. You don’t stand a chance.”

 

“Don’t underestimate me.”

 

“Dean I _forbid_ you! I won’t have you hunting anymore. You are going to get yourself killed and I won’t let that happen!”

 

“You lost the right to make decisions about my life when you decided to lie to me.”

 

“Whatever I did, you are still my son and you will do as I tell you or-”

 

“Or what? You can’t stop me. You won’t tell Dad because then you’d have to tell him that you’ve been lying to him, too.” She paled and Dean pushed it one step further. “I know, why don’t _I_ tell him and save you the trouble?”

 

She went deadly still. “You wouldn’t.”

 

Dean’s eyes glittered dangerously. “You wanna put that theory to the test? No? Then turn around, walk out of this room, close the door and go back to pretending that you don’t know anything about this. That’s what you’re good at, isn’t it? Leave Cas and I alone.”

 

“Dean, you can’t keep him here…”

 

“He’s not going anywhere! He needs me. He stays until he’s better, and you don’t say anything about it unless you want Dad to get the full story of your secret past.”

 

“Dean, you’re going to break this family apart.”

 

“Cas _is_ my family. He’s shown me more love and care than you guys ever have! Don’t make me choose between you, because I know who I’d pick.”

 

“Dean…”

 

“Get out. _Get out!_ ”

 

She backed off and Dean slammed the door behind her.

 

ooOOoo

 

It was hours before Cas began to stir. Dean kept himself locked away in his bedroom, ignoring the sound of his mother crying, her footsteps approaching his door before retreating again, the front door closing and the car pulling away, her return with Sam. He overheard Sam asking where he was and Mom responding with a smooth lie about Dean feeling ill.

 

It made Dean wonder what else she had lied to them about. All the times she had told him she loved him… Dean didn’t even know if he could believe that any more.

 

It hurt to think about, so he was relieved when Cas started to wake up.

 

He sat on the bed next to him and reached out to gently squeeze his shoulders. “Hey, Cas. Wakey wakey, rise and shine.”

 

Castiel’s eyelids fluttered.

 

“That’s it, show me those baby blues. Come on, Cas.”

 

Cas blinked once, twice, and then frowned up at the ceiling. “I don’t…understand. Where…?” His voice came out even more gravelly than usual.

 

“You’re in my bedroom,” Dean explained.

 

Cas slowly turned his head to look at him. “I’m…lying down.”

 

“Yeah. You fell down, actually, but I thought you’d be more comfortable in my bed.” He coughed awkwardly. “On a bed. Because it is softer. Yeah, um-”

 

“I don’t remember…” Cas mumbled. He tried to sit up and grunted in pain.

 

“Don’t do that.” Dean pushed him back down. “You’re hurt.”

 

Castiel ran his fingers over the make-shift bandages that covered his wound. “Oh. Yes.”

 

“What the hell happened, man? I’ve never seen you with so much as a scratch before!”

 

“I have been… too long separated from Heaven,” Cas sighed, sinking back into the pillow. “My Grace has been gradually… fading.”

 

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

 

“It was not… a problem. Even without the powers of Heaven behind me, few monsters pose a threat. But I did not count on…him.”

 

“Who?”

 

There was a long pause before Cas answered. “A demon… old…very old. Powerful. He holds one of the highest ranks in Hell, but he rarely leaves his post. I did not expect to encounter him here… on Earth.”

 

“You know him?”

 

“I’ve seen his work,” Cas said darkly. “All demons are evil, Dean, but this one is worse than most. I should have killed him. I need to kill him, before he-”

 

Dean pushed Cas back down again; he was struggling to get out of the bed. “Before he does what? Cas, who is he? What is he going to do?”

 

“Nothing. I won’t let him. I _won’t-_ ”

 

“Okay. Okay, calm down. When you’re better we’ll find him and kill him together, alright?”

 

Cas grasped his shirt, dragging Dean closer. “No,” he growled. “I’m not letting you anywhere near him.”

 

Dean swallowed. “Does he… do something to me? In the future? Is that what you’re not saying?”

 

“He won’t touch you,” Cas swore. “Not this time. I promise you, Dean.”

 

“Okay. I trust you.” Despite his words, Dean felt a sick feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t know what had happened, what still _could_ happen, and he was afraid to find out. But if anyone could stop it, Cas could. “First you need to get your strength back, alright?”

 

Cas nodded tiredly and his eyes fluttered shut, only to blink open again a few seconds later. “Your bedroom? At your home?”

 

“Yeah. You turned up at my school but we couldn’t stay there so you brought us here, remember?”

 

“Middle of the day… I should not have done that. I should go.”

 

“Castiel, lie _still!”_ Dean barked. “I just sewed your stomach back together and I won’t have you tearing out all of my stitches. You are going to _rest_ and _recuperate_ whether you like it or not!”

 

“But your family could find me here…”

 

Dean shrugged a little. “Yeah, well. Mom already did.”

 

“What?”

 

“Oh, it’s fine,” Dean said bitterly. “Turns out she knew all along. My mom used to be a hunter, Cas. Can you believe it?”

 

Cas was silent.

 

“Cas?”

 

“I know,” he said. “Mary Campbell comes from a long line of hunters.”

 

“You _know_?” Dean couldn’t take much more of this. Was everyone in his life lying to him? “Cas, I’m having a bad enough day as it is. Please don’t do this to me.”

 

“I’m sorry, Dean. I did not feel it was my place to tell you. Mary is your mother.”

 

“And you’re supposed to be my friend!”

 

“I knew that the knowledge, if not given freely, would only cause you pain. After all, your mother is the reason Azazel was able to enter your house that night.”

 

Dean froze. “What?”

 

He listened in growing horror as Cas finally told him the full story of what had happened when the original Dean had travelled back to 1973. He had met his parents, and his grandparents. He had discovered that his mother was a hunter, but that she hated it and desperately wanted out. He had learned that John was going to propose. He had joined a hunt and stumbled across the activities of the yellow-eyed demon. Mary had caught the demon’s eye and he had said he _liked_ her. Dean had tried to save her by killing the demon there and then, but he had failed. The demon had possessed his grandfather, killing both him and his wife before going after Mary. He had killed John, and then he had made Mary an offer.

 

John’s life, for permission.

 

Mary made the deal. 10 years later, a demon had come into Sammy’s nursery and bled in his mouth. He had nearly killed Dean. He had burned their house to the ground.

 

Mom _had_ invited the demon in, just like he had said. But if the other Dean hadn’t been there, Mary might not have gone to the Walsh’s that night. The demon might never have caught her scent. Her parents might not have been murdered. She might have left the hunting life and married John and had children and they might have led normal lives. They might have been okay.

 

“It is not blame that rests on you, Dean,” Cas said, knowing Dean well enough to guess his train of thought. “Fate is a stubborn mistress; she would have ensured that the deal was made one way or another. It was remarkable that you were able to change as much as you did. You saved your mother. That is no small feat.”

 

“Yeah, well then why do I feel like crap?”

 

“Because it has been a bad day,” Cas tried. “You will feel better in the morning.”

 

Dean didn’t think it would be that easy, but he was too exhausted to argue. He curled up next to Cas the way he used to when he was little and felt the familiar, comfortable weight of an invisible wing settle over him like a blanket.

 

They fell asleep like that, leaving their worries to another day.

 

ooOOoo


	13. Chapter 13

If there was one thing Sam hated, it was being late to school. He was a straight-A student with a perfect attendance record and not a single detention to his name, and he prided himself on that.

 

Dean was the opposite. It wasn’t that he wasn’t smart – Sam was fairly sure his brother was actually a genius – but he didn’t care about school. He didn’t get the grades he was capable of, he didn’t turn up to half of his classes and he was constantly getting into trouble. Sam often wished he could find a way to get his brother excited about learning, but today he would settle for Dean hurrying up so they would get to school on time.

 

He remembered that Dean hadn’t felt well yesterday, though. If he wasn’t better he should probably stay home and get some rest.

 

Sam knocked softly on Dean’s door and opened the door a crack, peeking in to see if Dean was just lounging around or if he was genuinely still fast asleep.

 

He was not prepared for the sight of his brother sharing his bed with a guy.

 

Sam recoiled so fast he almost fell over backwards, and he scrambled to shut the door as if that could erase what he had seen.

 

Not that it had been graphic or anything. Sure, the other guy was topless, but Dean was still wearing the clothes he had worn to school yesterday. They were on top of the covers, curled slightly into each other.

 

Dean had looked peaceful. Content.

 

It was weird, so, so, _so_ weird, like Sam’s world had been completely turned on its head, like red was actually blue and elephants were really just overgrown turtles and aliens abducted people to slow-dance with them – _weird._

 

But when the initial shock faded, Sam was surprised to find that it didn’t bother him as much as he thought it would.

 

There had always been something about Dean that didn’t quite add up. Sam had long suspected that Dean was keeping a secret from them, and now that he knew what it was he could understand why Dean was afraid to tell them. Sam dreaded to think how Dad would react if he found out.

 

“Sam, is your brother up yet?” Dad asked, coming down the hallway. He reached for the doorhandle.

 

“Don’t!” Sam yelped. “Uh, he’s awake, he’s just getting changed.”

 

“Tell him to hurry up. We leave in 10 minutes.”

 

“Yeah, okay.” He waited until his dad had gone downstairs before he pounded loudly on Dean’s bedroom door.

 

“Dean. Dean! Time to get up! I’m not letting you make me late again.”

 

“Go ‘way,” came Dean’s mumbled response.

 

“Don’t make me come in there.” _Don’t make Dad come in there._

 

There was the sound of startled movement. “Okay, okay, I’m up, I’m up! Don’t come in!”

 

“Dad’s driving us this morning, remember? Mom has an appointment.”

 

“Right, yeah, I’ll be right out. Get lost!”

 

Sam walked away, then snuck back on tip-toe to listen against the door.

 

“…sorry, Cas, I gotta go…promise you’ll still be here when I get back…?”

 

“…I’ll be here… be careful, Dean…”

 

“…you too…”

 

Sam slipped away before Dean could bust him. It wasn’t the sappy romance he had hoped to overhear, but it was sweet and Sam found himself grinning stupidly. His brother had a secret boyfriend. Sam couldn’t wait to tease him about it.

 

“Sleep well?” Sam asked cheerfully when Dean entered the kitchen.

 

“Fine…” Sam beamed and Dean looked at him like he had grown an extra head. “What’s up with you, runt?”

 

“Nothing.”

 

“Right… well, I’m in the middle of spring-cleaning my bedroom and stuff is kinda all over the place right now, so no one go in there, okay?”

 

Sam glanced surreptitiously at his dad and was glad to see he had accepted Dean’s words at face value, muttering a simple “Good,” in acknowledgement.

 

Dad swallowed the last mouthful of his coffee and stood from the table. “Let’s go, boys.” He pulled out the keys to the Impala. “Dean, fancy taking the wheel this morning?”

 

Dean’s whole face lit up like it was Christmas. “Are you serious?”

 

“Yeah, son,” Dad said, tossing Dean the keys. Dean caught them, looking shocked and delighted all at once. “You’re sixteen in a week; time for you to get some driving practice in.”

 

“You’re the best!” Dean exclaimed.

 

“Just don’t hurt her.”

 

“I won’t! Thanks Dad.”

 

“Great. I’m gonna die,” Sam muttered, but he was only joking. Dean loved that car more than Dad did; there was no way he would risk putting so much as a scratch on her, so his passengers would probably be safe too.

 

Unsurprisingly, Dean took to driving like a duck takes to water. Dad gave him a few pointers to begin with but by the time they had reached the school Dean was driving like a pro, and he looked as cocky as hell about it. Sam felt a niggle of irritation in the back of his head that Dean was better than him at something, but he reassured himself with the thought that he would probably be even more of a natural when he got behind the wheel of a car for the first time.

 

Dean pulled smoothly into a parking space and turned off the engine with a dramatic flourish, grinning from ear to ear.

 

“Well, no one died,” Dad commented and Dean shoved his shoulder.

 

“Shut up! I was awesome.”

 

“Yeah, yeah. Go on, get,” Dad said, but his lips were twitching with the smile he was trying to hide.

 

Dean tossed the car key back to his Dad and swung his bag onto his shoulder. As he walked towards the school building there was a distinct swagger to his steps.

 

Sam rolled his eyes, but if he was honest it was nice to see Dean so happy.

 

It didn’t last long.

 

Sam entered through the school doors barely a minute after Dean did, but it was like walking into a moment frozen in time.

 

The entire corridor was hushed. Students had pulled off to the sides to leave a path for Dean like he was diseased and contagious, whispering in his wake.

 

Dean came to a stop in front of his locker and just stared, speechless.

 

Spray-painted in large, red letters across the door of his locker was a single word. _FAG._

 

By unspoken cue, the spell was broken and suddenly slurs were being yelled at Dean from all sides.

 

“Homo!”

 

“Faggot!”

 

“Cock-sucker!”

 

“Slut!”

 

The crowd surged inward, surrounding Dean. Sam tried to push through it, yelling for his brother. A teacher got there first, breaking up the mob and sending them all off to class as the bell rang shrilly. Sam ran after Dean, calling his name, but Dean wouldn’t look at him. He shoved his way into his classroom and sat down right at the back, arms folded and a death glare aimed at anyone who came near.

 

“Your class is down the hall, Sam Winchester,” the teacher told him. “Off you go.”

 

“But-”

 

“Now, Sam.”

 

He went reluctantly.

 

“Hey Sam! Is it true? Is your brother gay?” Mindy asked as soon as he walked through the door, and soon all of his classmates were yelling over the top of each other, trying to get all the gossip.

 

“Why would anyone think that?” Sam snapped.

 

“Dean totally brushed off _Ally Winehouse_ yesterday,” Jake said. “Dude, have you seen the tits on that chick? Dude’s crazy!”

 

“I heard he hooked up with some older dude.”

 

“Yeah, guy showed up at lunchtime and Dean left with him.”

 

“Ally saw everything. Apparently Dean was all over him… kissing, groping, pulling clothes off – the whole deal!”

 

Sam wanted to deny everything, and he would have except he had seen the ‘older dude’ with Dean back at their place. The evidence was pretty conclusive.

 

“Why is it any of your business?” Sam asked instead.

 

“Are you kidding? This is like the biggest news since Hayley Morrison’s nose job!” Mindy said. “Dean was Lawrence High’s most eligible bachelor and now he’s gay?”

 

“You need a life,” Sam said disdainfully. “Let Dean live his in peace.”

 

Mindy looked like she was going to say more but the teacher walked in and the students scattered to their desks. They kept whispering and shooting glances at him, though. Sam could care less; he was just worried about his brother.

 

Dean was nowhere to be seen at lunchtime, but the rumours were getting louder and more outrageous. People started claiming he was a twink for hire and came up with stories about seeing him with different men in all sorts of places. Sam was bombarded with questions and insults. The whole school had turned hostile overnight. Sam struggled to keep calm as he defended his brother and shut down the ignorant comments of bullies with sharp quips about their own lifestyle choices. It was exhausting and he itched to punch some sense into the idiots who thought they had the right to judge his brother for who he chose to love.

 

When he couldn’t find Dean at the end of the school day, though, Sam started to panic.

 

“Where’s your brother?” Dad asked.

 

“I don’t know. He’s supposed to meet us here.”

 

Dad sighed and got out of the car. They went looking for him, and when they circled around to the back of the school they came across a circle of students cheering on a fight.

 

Sam couldn’t see what was happening but Dad’s face darkened and he pushed his way to the front.

 

“Enough!” bellowed the ex-marine.

 

The six boys involved in the brawl froze. The onlookers scattered.

 

“Dad!” Dean backed off from the others, bloodied fists still held up in a defensive position as he glanced from his attackers to Dad and back again. Five against one, but it looked like Dean had given as good as he got. Considering the others were all big burly jocks from the football team, it was a wonder Dean hadn’t had the crap beaten out of him.

 

“What the hell is going on here?”

 

“Nothing, it’s fine,” Dean muttered.

 

“You’re fighting again? How many times, Dean?”

 

“I didn’t start it. But I’ll damn well _finish it_ if any of you Neanderthals are thick enough to try again.”

 

The quarterback sneered. “Bring it on, faggot.”

 

Dad took a menacing step forward. “What did you just call him?” It had been more than 20 years since Dad was in the army, but he practically radiated soldier vibes as he glared down at the football player who suddenly didn’t look so tough in comparison.

 

“Nothing, sir.”

 

“Damn straight. Now get the hell out of here before I call your parents.”

 

The jocks beat a hasty retreat, leaving the Winchesters alone.

 

“What the hell was that all about?” Dad demanded.

 

“It’s not important,” Dean said, swiping ineffectually at the blood dripping from his busted nose. “Can we just go home?”

 

“If you think you are going to get out of explaining what went on here think again, son.”

 

“They’re just a bunch of dicks who don’t know what they’re talking about. I was handling it.”

 

“Violence is never an answer, Dean.”

 

“Some douchebags only understand a show of force – you of all people should know that.”

 

“You can’t compare a war in defence of this country to school-yard squabbles, Dean. If you keep getting into fights like this the school is going to expel you.”

 

“So? What do I care? I hate this stupid school anyway.”

 

“Dean-”

 

“I’m going home. I’ll walk if I have to.” Dean strode away and Dad made a frustrated sound in the back of his throat but followed after him.

 

The drive passed in stony silence. When they got back to the house Dean stormed into his bedroom and slammed the door behind him.

 

“Do you know what this is about, Sam?” Dad asked.

 

Sam shrugged.

 

Dad sighed. “Maybe his mother can get through to him. Mary?”

 

Sam slipped away while Dad was explaining to Mom what had happened at the school. He knocked quietly on Dean’s door.

 

“Dean,” he whispered. “Let me in.”

 

“Go away, Sam.”

 

“Dean, you have to get Cas out of here,” Sam hissed.

 

The door opened abruptly and Dean yanked him into the room. “How do you know about Cas?”

 

“I saw you, this morning… look, it doesn’t matter, alright? But Mom and Dad are going to come in here with some big speech and if they find him here you’re going to be outed.”

 

Dean glared. “This isn’t a gay thing, Sam!”

 

Sam glanced to the man in Dean’s bed. He had a rugged, handsome look and Sam couldn’t blame his brother for falling for him. “It doesn’t bother me, Dean. I’m glad you’ve found someone who makes you happy. But if you want Cas to stay secret, he needs to go right now.”

 

“He can’t just up and fly away,” Dean said. “He’s hurt.”

 

Sam noticed the bandages for the first time. “How-?”

 

“Doesn’t matter. Point is, he ain’t going nowhere fast.”

 

“Dean,” the man spoke up. His voice was deep and gravelly. “I do not want to cause you trouble with your family.”

 

“I know. I don’t want that either. But-”

 

“I am healing.”

 

“Not fast enough. I shouldn’t have forced you to bring us back here; it made you worse. If you try to leave that way while you’re still weak you could end up passed out in a ditch somewhere and I wouldn’t be able to find you. Something else could though, and I can’t let that happen.”

 

Sam wasn’t sure he understood what they were talking about. “Okay guys, we need an action plan here.”

 

“I can call Bobby, get him to come pick you up,” Dean suggested.

 

“Who’s Bobby?”

 

“Bobby Singer. Another h- uh, mechanic. A friend. He knows Cas, he can help.”

 

“How fast can he get here?”

 

“He lives in Sioux Falls so… a few hours, if he floors it.”

 

“Mom and Dad could be in here any second.”

 

“Not if I go out there first and stall them.”

 

“What are you going to say?”

 

“I don’t know. That I’m gay, I guess.” Dean’s laugh was high-pitched and bordering on hysterical.

 

The man’s brow furrowed. “Dean?”

 

“I don’t know man, alright? I’ve never really thought about it, but yeah, maybe…? Oh god, don’t tell me your father is gonna smite me for this.”

 

“He is a God of love, no matter its form,” Cas said.

 

“Well, that’s a relief. _My_ dad might not be that cool about it, though…”

 

Sam struggled to keep up. They weren’t making any sense. “Dean, if you’re not ready to tell them-”

 

“There might not even be anything to tell!” He raked his fingers through his hair. “Shit, this whole thing is a mess.”

 

“I’m sorry, Dean-” Cas tried.

 

“No! Don’t you do that. After everything you’ve done for me, after everything we’ve been through together- I’m glad you came to me for help, Cas.”

 

“But what it could cost you…”

 

“I don’t care. You’re more important.”

 

The look that passed between them was filled with emotion and unspoken words; Sam had never seen his brother look at anyone that way.

 

“Wow,” Sam breathed. “You really do love him.”

 

Dean blinked and shot Sam a withering glare. “Shut up. Cas, we need to get you up and back in your clothes. Sam, give us a hand.”

 

They manoeuvred Cas upright and helped him slide gingerly off the bed. Standing was harder; he wobbled and Dean caught him.

 

“Dammit, Cas, he really did a number on you.”

 

It looked like it was all Cas could do to stay conscious.

 

Dean was exceedingly gentle as he helped Cas into a suit jacket and trench coat. “Sorry about your shirt, man. I think I damaged it beyond repair when I ripped it off-”

 

“ _What_?”

 

Dean and Sam spun around. They hadn’t noticed their father come in.

 

The expression on his face was thunderous.

 

ooOOoo


	14. Chapter 14

“ _Faggot_ ,” Dad hissed. “That’s what they called you, isn’t it? And they were right.”

 

“Dad!” Sam exclaimed, appalled by his father’s bigotry.

 

Mom laid a hand on her husband’s arm, trying to calm him. “John, no, that’s Cas, he’s-”

 

“He’s what? Our son’s _boyfriend_? Mary, did you know about this?”

 

“John, you don’t understand. Just give us a second to explain-”

 

“Explain what? Why Dean is hiding a half-naked man in his bedroom?”

 

“There are extenuating circumstances…”

 

“Like what?”

 

“He’s friend of mine,” Dean said. “He was hurt-”

 

“Then why didn’t he go to a hospital? Why were you hiding him from me?”

 

Dean tried for honesty, one last time. “Because he’s angel and you don’t believe he exists.”

 

Dad’s face twisted with disgust. “An ‘angel’? Is that what they call hookers these days?”

 

“He’s an angel _of the Lord_ , Dad.”

 

“Maybe Cas could prove it…?” Mom suggested.

 

Dean felt anger and frustration well up within him. Mom was a hunter. She _knew_ supernatural creatures were real and if she would just take his side in this thing for _once_ he might stand a chance of convincing his father. But she was trying to play this so the truth would come out without Dad ever finding out about her past. “No, he can’t,” Dean said scathingly. “You’re just going to have to take my word for it.”

 

But of course Dad wouldn’t. He never did.

 

“You know what I think?” Dad said. “I think this is just another lie. I think those idiot jocks back at your school were telling it like it is. I think you’re _gay_.”

 

Dean had never seen his father look at him that way, with such hatred and revulsion. They’d had some nasty disagreements in the past, but this felt like something they might never be able to come back from. It didn’t matter if what Dad believed wasn’t the truth; he was beyond listening.

 

“So what if he is gay, Dad?” Sam challenged. “He’s still your son. You should love him just the same.”

 

Dad’s eyes spat fire. “If _this_ is the life Dean has chosen – lying, failing in school, getting involved in the occult, brawling, fucking _men_ – then he is no son of mine! I won’t have that kind of filth in my house.”

 

“John!” Mom gasped.

 

Dean drew himself up, his expression hardening. “That’s fine. Cas and I were leaving anyway.”

 

Mom’s face was distraught. “No, Dean-”

 

“You have both made it very clear that you can’t accept me for who I am. I won’t change just because I don’t fit into your mould. I don’t belong here anymore, if I ever did.”

 

“Dean-” Sam tried.

 

Dean’s expression softened when he looked at his little brother. “I’m sorry, Sammy, but I can’t live like this. I have to go.”

 

“But-”

 

“You heard him,” Dad snapped. “You don’t need his corrupting influence, Sam. You’ll be better off without him.”

 

“That’s not true! He’s the best big brother in the world!”

 

“He is no longer your brother.”

 

Tears sprung to Sam’s eyes and he flung him arms around Dean to hug him tight. “You’ll _always_ be my brother.”

 

“Yeah, I love you too, runt,” Dean said quietly, giving him a gentle squeeze before he pulled away. “Take care of yourself, Sammy.”

 

Dean slipped on his leather jacket and took Cas by the arm. “Come on, Cas. We’ve got work to do.”

 

Sam watched helplessly as his parents parted the way to let Dean through. Dean cast one final glance back at his brother, and then he was gone.

 

ooOOoo

 

Bobby was enjoying a rare day off. None of his hunting buddies were on jobs at the moment so he didn’t have to man the phones and it had been over a week without any strange stories cropping up in the local papers. He used the spare time to reorganise his books and papers, to go into town for a grocery run, to work on a few cars out back and to clean all of his weapons. Now he felt entitled to a little rest and recreation, so he was enjoying a nice cup of tea in front of the telly.

 

Of course, he had barely taken a single sip when his personal phone line rang.

 

Bobby sighed, considered ignoring the call, sighed again, set his cup down and picked up the phone.

 

“This had better be important,” he barked.

 

_“Sorry, Bobby...”_

 

“Dean?”

 

 _“Yeah.”_ God, the kid sounded exhausted. _“I, uh… I need your help.”_

 

“What is it? A monster? Demon?”

 

_“No, I just… I need you to come get us.”_

 

“Us?”

 

_“Me and Cas.”_

 

“Can’t angel-boy just fly you both here?”

 

_“Not at the moment. Some stuff has gone down, Bobby…”_

“Okay, you can save the explanation for later. Where are you?”

 

_“The Red Motel in Lawrence. Room 23.”_

 

Bobby had questions, a lot of questions, but he was an ‘ask later’ kind of guy. “Hold tight. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

 

_“Thanks, Bobby.”_

Bobby hung up and five minutes later he was on the road. It didn’t sound like Dean was in any immediate danger, but he felt responsible for the kid and he’d be damned if he left him alone any longer than absolutely necessary.

 

Even so, it was dark by the time he reached Lawrence. He found the motel easily enough – they really weren’t kidding about the whole ‘red’ thing; it had red bricks, red window sills, red roof tiles and a brightly illuminated red sign that stood out for miles.

 

“Overkill,” he muttered.

 

Bobby knocked on room 23 and when the door opened he got a flask of holy water tossed in his face.

 

“Good to see you remembered what I taught ya,” Bobby grunted, accepting the towel Dean offered to pat himself dry. “You okay, kid?”

 

Dean shrugged, closing the door behind him. “Been better.”

 

Bobby looked over to where Castiel was sitting propped up against the headrest of the bed. His face was pale; a stark contrast to the rest of the garishly-coloured room. “What about you, feathers?”

 

“Been better,” Castiel agreed.

 

“He was injured,” Dean said, moving over to the angel and helping to pull aside his jacket and coat so Bobby could see. “I patched him up as best I could, but…”

 

Bobby nodded. “I’ll take a look.” He was no doctor, but he’d had plenty of on-the-job training over the years. “Go grab my med-kit out of the truck, will you, Dean?”

 

Dean scurried to do as he was told and Bobby set to work unwrapping the make-shift bandages around Castiel’s chest. He had to hand it to the kid – he was resourceful and considering this was the first time he’d patched up a wound he had done a damn good job.

 

“When did this happen?”

 

“Yesterday,” Cas said.

 

The wound had already started to close which was a testament to the angel’s healing power, though Bobby would have thought the angel could heal in seconds.

 

“My Grace is fading,” Castiel explained sombrely. “Healing the slow way is…inconvenient.”

 

Bobby noticed the faint white stress lines around the angel’s eyes. “And painful.”

 

Castiel breathed out through his nose, averting his gaze from his injury. “Yes.”

 

“What did it?”

 

Cas glanced to the door before he answered, “A demon named Alastair.”

 

“Never heard of him.”

 

“He is the demon responsible for overseeing all torture in Hell. He is also one of the few demons old enough to remember when angels and demons used to engage in warfare across the globe. He used a spell on me that should have resulted in my banishment to Heaven but the gates would not open. I am not wanted there, it seems. When he was unsuccessful, Alastair stabbed me with my own blade. If I had been at full strength I would have continued the battle until he lay dead at my feet, but in my condition… I am ashamed that I had to flee.”

 

“Hey, living to fight another day is a heck of a lot better than getting yourself killed. Besides, that kid out there needs ya.”

 

“Sometimes I think his life would be easier without me.”

 

“I think if you asked him, he’d rather have you.”

 

“He has lost everything because of me.”

 

“That’s not true, Cas,” Dean said. He came in and passed the med-kit to Bobby before perching on the edge of the bed. “Hey, look at me. None of this is on you, okay? I don’t blame you for what happened. It’s not your fault that my parents can’t accept that I’m not the person they thought I should be.”

 

Bobby knew what it felt like to be considered a disappointment and he wished Dean could have been spared from that. “What happened?” he asked.

 

“I got kicked out of home,” Dean said. The matter-of-fact tone of his voice as he explained the events of the past two days was belied by the pain in his eyes. Despite his efforts to appear strong and unbothered, Bobby could see how much he was hurting.

 

“That’s rough, kid. I’m sorry.”

 

 Dean shrugged. “It’s no big deal – had to happen sooner or later.”

 

“Family ain’t always what it is supposed to be. But you deserved better, Dean. Your parents are the ones who done wrong.”

 

“I was going to leave eventually anyway. This is earlier than I planned, but what’s done is done. At least now I’m free to do what I was meant to do… that is, if your offer to train me as a real hunter still stands.”

 

“Of course,” Bobby said gruffly. “I have a couple of spare bedrooms back home, so you’re welcome to stay. Both of you.”

 

The tension visibly sloughed from Dean’s shoulders, as though he had been afraid that Bobby would reject him, too. Bobby had half a mind to hunt down those Winchesters and give John a solid punch to the jaw for being an asshole to his kid – in fact, he wasn’t above hitting a woman either, since Mary was an ex-hunter who should damn well have been protecting her son from all of this crap instead of lying to him to protect her own interests.

 

But he chose to focus on the needs of the young man in front of him instead. He finished re-dressing Castiel’s wound and then bundled the two of them into his truck. He took them first to an all-night diner because Dean looked like he hadn’t eaten in days and Castiel looked like he could do with a decent meal as well. Cas had never had human food before so Dean ordered a burger for him and Castiel’s clear enjoyment of the meal managed to coax a small smile from the boy.

 

Stomachs full and fatigue catching up at last, the kid and his angel both fell asleep in the back seat on the way home. A sad smile curved Bobby’s lips when he glanced in the rear-view mirror to see that Dean’s head was resting on Castiel’s shoulder and the angel’s arm was wrapped protectively around him.

 

However other people might label them, it was clear to Bobby that the two shared a special bond and nothing was going to be able to get in the way of that.

 

ooOOoo

 

With Dean gone the Winchester household was quiet and subdued. No one would talk about what had happened. They tried to go on with their lives like everything was normal, but Dean’s absence was keenly felt in the awkward silences, the fourth plate that Mom accidentally set on the dinner table, the lack of Metallica blasting from Dean’s speakers, the questions at school about why Dean wasn’t turning up for classes, the uneasy peace that had replaced sibling banter and bickering, the load of washing Mom hung out that included some of Dean’s clothes, and even the liquorice in the cupboard that no one was eating.

 

Sam was struggling to cope. He was furious with his father for kicking Dean out of the house, disappointed in his mother for not calling Dad out on his homophobic bull-crap, frustrated with Cas for sticking around and getting Dean in trouble, upset with Dean for leaving and mad at himself for not going with him.

 

January 24 was Sam’s breaking point.

 

They had been planning Dean’s sixteen birthday for weeks. Sam was going to wake up early to blow up balloons and hang up streamers. Mom was going to bake a huge pecan pie and stick sixteen sparklers in it instead of candles. Sam had bought a leather necklace with a cool pendant amulet thing that he thought Dean would like and had already wrapped for him. Dad was going to surprise Dean with the biggest gift of all. Dean was supposed to open a little carefully wrapped box with a big bow on it, and inside he would find the keys to the Impala. The car he had loved and doted on and called ‘Baby’ was going to be his at last. He would have been so excited.

 

But Dean was gone.

 

Dad had already arranged to buy himself a new truck to replace the Impala. The morning of Dean’s birthday, Dad made a very deliberate point of covering the Impala in a tarp and carelessly tossing the keys into the bowl of odds and ends they kept on the kitchen surface.

 

Mom cried.

 

Sam got angry.

 

He stormed away from the breakfast table and shut himself in Dean’s bedroom. He refused to come out or talk to his parents and eventually they left him alone.

 

When Sam was confident that he wouldn’t be disturbed, he starting packing. Dean had been forced to leave with nothing but the clothes on his back so Sam filled a duffle bag with all of his clothes, his favourite cassette tapes, his Gameboy, framed photos of the two of them and other miscellaneous belongings he thought Dean might need or want. He retrieved Dean’s birthday present and slipped it on top, then zipped up the bag.

 

Next, he snuck into the kitchen and snatched up the car keys. He dragged the duffle out to the yard and whipped the cover off Dean’s car.

 

Sam clambered into the driver’s side, pulled the seat forward so he would be able to reach the steering wheel and adjusted the mirrors. He thought back to Dean’s driving lesson – had it only been a week ago? – and tried to remember everything Dad had taught him.

 

He was sure he could do it. How hard could it be? Besides, it was for a good cause. Dean deserved to have a good birthday. He needed his stuff. Most importantly, Sam wanted his brother to know that there was at least one person in his family who still loved him.

 

Sam gritted his teeth and turned the key in the ignition.

 

ooOOoo


	15. Chapter 15

The way Dean saw it, he had two choices. He could mope around feeling sorry for himself, or he could let go of the family that had rejected him and embrace his new-found freedom.

 

He chose the latter.

 

Life at Bobby’s was radically different to the way things had been at home. Dean didn’t go to school, so he didn’t have to deal with the judgmental teachers, peer pressure to fit in and be normal, pointless assignments and impossibly high expectations, but he was still learning loads from Bobby and his books. He didn’t have to worry about reinforcing the defences around the house in the dead of night because Bobby had built the place like a fortress. He didn’t have to pretend to be someone he wasn’t. He didn’t have to hide anything.

 

Best of all, he didn’t have to keep his friendship with Cas a secret. They didn’t have to be cooped up in his bedroom or talk in whispers or fly to far-off states where no one would recognise them just to spend time together. They chatted openly in the kitchen and in the hallway and out on the front porch, talking about anything and everything. They watched old cowboy movies on Bobby’s TV while Cas was still laid up. When Cas began feeling better they went for long walks outside to help him get his strength back. Cas watched Dean tinker with the old cars in Bobby’s salvage yard and passed Dean the different tools he needed. Once Castiel’s wound had healed over completely he offered to help with Dean’s training, so they sparred against each other as Bobby gave pointers, corrected Dean’s technique and offered praise when he showed improvement.

 

No one was judging them. They were free to just… be. And for the first time in a long time, Dean thought maybe he could be happy.

 

Only… he missed his family. He didn’t want to. He wanted to be angry with them. He wanted to say ‘good riddance’ to that chapter of his life and move on. His mother was a liar and his father was a bigot; he didn’t need them. Things were better this way.

 

But it was hard not to feel orphaned. Rejected. Unwanted.

 

Dean was a hunter. That was all he had ever wanted to be. But he hadn’t realised how much of his identity was made up of being a son and a big brother until those roles were taken from him.

 

He tried not to dwell on what he had lost, pulling on a smile whenever his thoughts started to wander down sad paths. But on the morning of his birthday, he couldn’t seem to muster the energy to even get out of bed. He sat on the edge of the mattress, staring down at his hands.

 

“It is okay to grieve you know,” Cas said quietly, coming to sit next to him. “Many years have passed and I still miss my old life sometimes.”

 

Dean’s shoulders slumped. “I ruined your life too, huh?”

 

“No, you misunderstand. I miss my brothers and sisters and my home, certainly. It is natural that I would; they were everything to me for a long time. But if I were given the choice, I would not return to the way things were.”

 

Dean looked at him, surprised. “You wouldn’t? But you would have your family back, and you would still be in Heaven, and your Grace wouldn’t be fading away, and you wouldn’t have to babysit me all the time…”

 

“In the alternate timeline, I was a soldier in a war. The world was ending. You and I had only just met, and I do not think you liked me very much.”

 

“What makes you think that?”

 

“You shot me, stabbed me, told me I didn’t exist, called angels ‘dicks’… I may have threatened you at one point.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“You were an assignment, and I was just doing my job. I would not have been permitted to grow too close to a human in my charge. But when you changed history, you freed me to make my own choices.”

 

“You…chose to save me.”

 

“Yes. And I am glad I did. I have never had a friend before, Dean Winchester. Inasmuch as I miss Heaven, I would not trade what we have now for what my life was back then.”

 

Dean thought about his own family, and he thought about Cas. Yes, he was grieving, but at least he would always have his best friend. It was enough to make him smile, just a little. “Me neither.”

 

Then Bobby burst in with a store-bought piece of pie that had a half-melted candle stuck on top and bellowed, “HAPPY BIRTHDAY DEAN!”

 

Dean couldn’t help it. He grinned.

 

ooOOoo

 

The end credits were rolling on the original Star Wars movie (one of the few VHS’s that Bobby actually owned and a classic Dean insisted that Cas had to watch) when Dean’s cell phone started to ring.

 

Dean pulled it out of his pocket on reflex, but hesitated to answer. Very few people had this number. Two of them were sitting in the room with him, and the others were his family.

 

It had been a good birthday so far. He didn’t want his little bubble of happiness to burst.

 

“It could be Sam calling,” Cas suggested.

 

“Y-yeah.”

 

“You don’t have to pick up if you don’t want to,” Bobby said.

 

Dean drew in a slow breath, then pressed the green button and held the cell up to his ear. “Hello?”

 

_“Dean!”_

 

He stiffened. “Mom, I have nothing to say to you.” He made to hang up.

 

“ _It’s your brother, Dean-”_ Her voice was choked with tears.

 

A cold fist of fear clenched around his heart. “What about Sam?”

 

“ _Dean, he’s - he’s been in an accident.”_

Dean’s grip on the phone tightened until his knuckles turned white. “How bad?”

 

_“He’s in surgery right now. They had to cut him out of the car, Dean – he was driving, and we don’t know what happened but he must have lost control – the cops think he must have been travelling at 60 when he hit the tree-”_

“He was _driving_?! What the hell-”

 

“ _He took the Impala. He was upset this morning about – about your birthday, and he snuck out when we weren’t looking. By the time we realised he had gone…”_

“He’s _twelve!_ What was he thinking?”

 

“ _We - we think he might have been trying to find you. He cleaned out your bedroom before he left, and the car was supposed to – it was supposed to be your birthday present.”_

Dean couldn’t listen to this. This couldn’t be happening. “He’s going to be okay, though, right?”

_“The doctors don’t know. They’re trying-”_

 

“That’s not good enough! They have to save him! That’s their job!”

 

_“They can’t work miracles. Dean, your brother might be – he might be dying.”_

 

“No!”

 

_“Dean-”_

“He’s not going to die, you hear me? I’m coming. I’m coming right now. You _take care of him_ until I get there, alright?”

 

_“Dean, there’s nothing any of us can do…”_

 

“Maybe you can’t. But I can. _Cas_ can.”

 

Mom’s breath caught. _“The angel?”_

 

“Yeah. _My_ angel.”

 

_“Okay. Okay. But hurry, Dean. Please.”_

 

Dean hung up and turned to his angel, glaring out through a sheen of tears. “You’re taking me back to Lawrence. _Now._ ”

 

“Dean, what-”

 

“Sam’s hurt. He’s hurt pretty bad. The doctor’s say – but it doesn’t matter. You’re going to fix him.”

 

“Dean, my Grace – I don’t know if I can-”

 

“ _You’re going to fix him!”_ Dean yelled. “This is my _brother_ we’re talking about!”

 

“Okay. Okay, I will try, but Dean I can’t promise-”

 

“I don’t want to hear it! Take me to Sam. _Now!_ ”

 

Cas pressed two fingers against Dean’s forehead and within seconds they were standing in the waiting room of Lawrence Memorial Hospital. Ignoring the startled reactions of the people around him Dean ran to the reception desk. “Sam Winchester, where is he?”

 

“I’m sorry, I can’t disclose any patient information to-”

 

“I’m his brother! Winchester. Car crash victim. _Where is he?_ ”

 

The woman typed agonisingly slowly on her computer keyboard. “Winchester… here it is. He’s in surgery at the moment-”

 

“Room number.”

 

“You won’t be able to go in there, but I can direct you to the emergency waiting room, it is on the east side of the hospital, just head on through those double doors and down the corridor-”

 

Dean was already off and running. He reached the emergency waiting room within a minute but didn’t stop there, bursting through the doors that said “Restricted Access: Medical Personnel only.”

 

He checked three rooms before he found Sam. He was barely recognisable beneath the blood and bruises, but their parents were already inside, clutching each other, faces stricken-

 

Sam was flat-lining.

 

The surgeon yelled “Clear!” and used defibrillation paddles to deliver an electric shock that jolted Sam’s body off the table. The heart-monitor showed a jagged heart beat but it didn’t hold.

 

“Charging 80. Clear!”

 

Another shock.

 

No response.

 

“Charging 100. Clear!”

 

Sam’s body collapsed back onto the table and his head lolled.

 

The surgeon started doing CPR manually while a nurse pushed oxygen through a face mask.

 

Dad was yelling and four nurses dragged him back, threatening to expel him from the room. Mom was sobbing.

 

Eternities seemed to pass as the surgeon attempted to pump life back into Sam’s body. But eventually he slowed, then stopped. He shook his head.

 

Dean couldn’t hear him, but his lips formed the words “I’m sorry.”

 

Tears welled up in Dean’s eyes but he fiercely dashed them away. It didn’t matter. Doctors were powerless, but they didn’t have an angel on call. Sam was going to be fine.

 

“Okay, Cas, show time.”

 

Silence.

 

Dean turned around. “Cas? Cas!”

 

But the corridor was empty, and he received no reply.

 

“ _CAS!”_

 

ooOOoo

 

“Hello, Castiel.”

 

Cas whirled around, shocked by the sudden change in his surroundings. He wasn’t in the hospital anymore. He wasn’t on _Earth_ anymore.

 

He was in Heaven.

 

The angel Zachariah stood before him. A small, smug smile tugged at his vessel’s lips. “Long time no see.”

 

“Whatever this is about, it can wait,” Cas said. “I have to go.”

 

Zachariah snapped his fingers and two more angels appeared to seize Castiel’s arms.

 

“I’m sorry, Castiel, but you are not going anywhere.”

 

Castiel struggled to free himself but the angels held firm. He turned pleading eyes on his ex-boss. “You don’t understand. I’m needed. This is an emergency-”

 

“Oh, I’m well aware of the situation. Your pet human wants you to heal his brother.”

 

“Sam is dying. I can save him.”

 

“That’s debatable, in your condition. Whether you could or not is a moot point, though, I’m afraid.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“I mean that after all these years Heaven is finally giving its wayward son new orders. You are not to heal Sam Winchester.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Destiny. You interfered once with nearly disastrous consequences. We cannot allow you to do so again.”

 

“But an innocent boy’s life is at stake!”

 

“Oh, I am confident that Sam Winchester will be just fine.”

 

“Didn’t you hear me? He is dying!”

 

“Actually, I think he will be confirmed medically deceased in three… two… one… ah yes, the human doctors are finally ‘calling it’. Adorable, isn’t it, the way these overgrown apes think they can cheat death? But fate cannot be changed.”

 

“Fate? Sam is not meant to die in his twelfth year of life! He is only a child!”

 

“True. But thanks to you it looks like the timetable has shifted. He’s dead now and the wheels of destiny have been set in motion.”

 

“What are you talking about?”

 

“You should know. You were there the last time this happened.”

 

“Last time?”

 

“Little brother Sammy was stabbed in the back. The knife cut straight through his spinal cord. The life drained out of him in seconds. He died in his brother’s arms. Any of this ringing a bell?”

 

“That won’t happen again. I’ll make sure of it.”

 

“It doesn’t have to. Don’t you see? Sam is already dead. Dean is devastated, naturally, and his pet angel is nowhere to be found. Whatever will he do…?”

 

Cas realised the implications and he had been in his vessel so long by now that human physiological reactions to shock, horror and grief kicked in automatically – his breath caught, his eyes widened, his heart hammered painfully in his chest and moisture stung in the corners of his eyes. “No.”

 

“It’s inevitable, I’m afraid.”

 

“No. I can stop it. I can save him. Knowing what we know now, we can stop the first seal from ever breaking. We can prevent the apocalypse!”

 

“Oh sure. We could, absolutely. Unfortunately that is not on our agenda.”

 

Castiel’s hands balled into fists. “Then what is?” he growled.

 

“Paradise. This miserable planet has been spinning on its axis for far too long, spiralling deeper and deeper into a black pit of violence, iniquity and despair. The time has come for the Great Cleansing. Evil and pestilence will be purged from this world, washed away in a sea of blood, leaving nothing but peace and purity in their place. Angels will descend and the Righteous shall prosper. It shall be Paradise, my boy, and it shall be glorious.”

 

“You want the apocalypse to happen. You want Lucifer to rise.”

 

“Of course. Michael and Lucifer must fight in the Great Battle that has been long foretold, and for that to happen we need Dean and Sam Winchester to play their roles.”

 

“You want Dean to break the first seal.”

 

“Now you’re getting it!”

 

“But he is just a child! He has done nothing to deserve this!”

 

“I should hope not,” Zachariah chuckled, “or he wouldn’t make for a very good Righteous Man, would he? He only barely met the criteria last time, but young and innocent as he is? Perfect, simply perfect. He should even break faster this time.”

 

Castiel couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Our mission is to defend humanity, not to throw children to the wolves.”

 

“Sacrifices must be made for the greater good.”

 

“The greater good? I see nothing but evil here!”

 

“Oh Castiel, your time with the humans has warped your perceptions. Do not worry. When Paradise comes you will see that we were right.”

 

“I won’t let you do this!”

 

“Of course you won’t. That’s why I have taken every precaution.” Zachariah snapped his fingers and chains appeared to bind Castiel’s wrists and ankles. “Some time-out in prison should help you reassess your priorities. Be glad Castiel – when you are released in, oh, let’s say a few hundred years, you will emerge into Paradise.”

 

“Zachariah, don’t-!”

 

But Heaven’s prison sprung up around him and the gate slammed shut.

 

In the sudden, deafening silence, Castiel could hear a distant cry.

 

_“CAS!!”_

ooOOoo


	16. Chapter 16

Sammy was dead.

 

Cas had abandoned him.

 

Mom expected him to turn up with a miracle.

 

But without his angel, there was nothing Dean could do.

 

Sammy was _dead_.

 

Dean wanted to burst through those doors and gather his baby brother into his arms. He wanted to sob out all of his apologies and regrets and ‘I love you’s. He wanted to beg Sammy not to leave him. He wanted his mother to comfort him. He wanted his father to wrap his arms around both of them and to say something about how they would get through this as a family.

 

He wanted Sammy _alive._ He wanted, no, _needed_ Cas to come back _right now_ and _fix this._

 

But Cas wasn’t answering his prayers.

 

And Dean knew that he couldn’t face his family. If he went in there empty-handed it would break Mom’s heart and Dad would blame him for what had happened to Sam. He couldn’t stay.

 

He ran and he kept running, blinded by tears, driven by grief. He stumbled and tripped and knocked into people but he didn’t care, he just kept running. Because maybe if he ran fast enough and far enough he could leave behind the emotions that were ripping him apart.

 

But when he fell, slamming to his knees on rough concrete and skinning his palms, Dean couldn’t get up again. The fight and adrenaline flooded out of him, leaving him weak, exhausted, helpless.

 

Sammy was dead.

 

Hoarse, ragged sobs wrenched their way out of his throat. The pain was crushing him and he curled around the gaping wound that was his heart, trying desperately to hold himself together.

 

But how could he? And what was the point anymore?

 

He had lost everything.

 

It was all his fault. He had let everyone down. He had chosen hunting over his own family. He had left Sammy all alone when it was his job to protect him. He had been stupid and selfish and Sammy had paid the price.

 

Sammy was dead.

 

How was Dean supposed to live with that?

 

He couldn’t.

 

He had to find a way to make this right.

 

He prayed to Cas. He prayed to any angel who would listen. He prayed to God himself.

 

But when he received no reply, he didn’t stop there.

 

Because he knew for a fact that it wasn’t just the forces of Heaven that could raise people from the dead.

 

Demons could too. After all, when Dad had been killed, Mom had made a deal to save him.

 

Dean stood to his feet and angrily dashed away his tears.

 

“Alright, Azazel, you want me? Come and _get_ me!” he yelled into the night. “No more games. No more angels. Just you and me, face to face. Come _on_ you son of a bitch!”

 

“Language, Dean,” a voice purred.

 

Dean spun around to see that a man he didn’t recognise had appeared behind him. It wasn’t the same meat suit as the last time they had met, so he had to check. “ _Cristo.”_

 

The man’s eyes flashed yellow. “That’s right, buddy boy, it’s me.”

 

Dean’s fists clenched as the memories of the night of the fire surged to the forefront of his mind. This was the demon who had killed his grandparents, bled into Sammy’s mouth to use him for god knows what, stabbed Dean and would have murdered his mother. He loathed this creature with every fibre of his being. “I’ve been looking for you for a long time,” he growled.

 

“Oh, I know. You want me dead for what I’ve done to your precious little family. But you didn’t bring me here to kill me.”

 

“No,” Dean grudgingly admitted. He forced his hands to relax. “I don’t know what you did to my brother, and I don’t know what you want from him. But if you wanted him dead you would have killed him that night in his nursery.”

 

“What’s your point?”

 

“Sam died tonight.” Saying the words out loud felt like a stab to the gut. It hurt, oh god it hurt. But he was going to fix it. He was going to do whatever it took to save him.

 

“That’s unfortunate. He showed a lot of promise. But I don’t see how it is my problem – there are other children like him. He’s replaceable.”

 

“Not to me he isn’t!” Dean yelled.

 

The demon raised his eyebrows, smirking.

 

Dean wrenched his emotions back under control, dragging in a deep breath. “I know you can resurrect people. You did it for my Dad. You can do it for Sammy.”

 

“It’s not a parlour trick, boy. I can’t just snap my fingers and make it so, even if I wanted to. Rules, red tape, you know how it is.”

 

“You’ve got to have something in exchange,” Dean guessed.

 

Azazel began to smile. “That’s right.”

 

Dean had expected that much, but it didn’t make it any easier. He closed his eyes for a moment, gathering his strength and resolve. Then he looked Azazel straight in the eye and said, “You can have me.”

 

“Why would I want you? You’re nothing special.”

 

“Because you’re not stupid. You know that if you don’t take this deal, I _will_ hunt you down and kill you myself. I made you that promise more than twenty years ago, and I intend to keep it.”

 

“I’m not scared of you.”

 

“Yes you are. That’s why you tried to kill me as a kid. That’s why you sent your lackeys to finish the job instead of coming after me yourself. That’s why you haven’t dared to show your face until now. There is only one way out for you, and believe me when I say you won’t get another chance. Save Sam.”

 

“Do you understand what you’re offering, boy? If you make this trade, you won’t just die. You’ll be dragged down into the Pit. And trust me, it ain’t no pleasure palace.”

 

“I know that.”

 

“You really don’t. You cannot possibly comprehend the pain and horror of that place until you’ve experienced it for yourself. It’s what turns humans into demons.”

 

Dean’s breath caught. “What?”

 

“Your angel buddy didn’t fill you in on that little detail, huh? Yep, every last demon, save for the big boss himself, was human once. Couple of hundred years in the Pit is usually enough to do it."

 

“I don’t care,” Dean lied, trying to still the tremble in his hands. “It doesn’t change my decision.”

 

“Anything for little Sammy, eh Dean?”

 

“It’s a fair trade. My life for my brother’s. Do we have a deal or not?”

 

Azazel grinned. “Sure thing, buddy boy. One living breathing Sammy coming right up.”

 

“I want to see him,” Dean said quickly. “I want proof that he’s alive and well before – before you take me.”

 

“Fine. You can have your little reunion, but then payment comes due. No welching out on it or Sammy drops like a fly.”

 

“I’m not going to welch out on it. I’m a man of my word.”

 

The demon clapped his hands together. “Alright, then. Pucker up Dean-o.”

 

Dean stiffened. “What?”

 

“Deals are sealed with a kiss.”

 

Dean grimaced, but winced his eyes shut. “Fine. Get it over with.”

 

He heard Azazel laugh and then rough, dry lips were pressed hard against his own. A hand yanked on his hair to pull him closer and Azazel mouthed at him, making little moans with the deliberate intent of taunting him.

 

Dean stood there and bore it, though it was all he could do to keep from vomiting. _For Sam_ , he told himself. _I’m doing this for Sam._

 

After an eternity Azazel pulled away. “See you soon, Dean.”

 

When Dean opened his eyes, the demon was gone.

 

ooOOoo

 

Waking up was an extremely strange experience for Sam. The first thing he became aware of was the fact that a sheet was covering his face, making breathing difficult. He promptly batted it off and sat up, trying to work out where he was.

 

A man in a lab coat had his back to him.

 

“Hey, excuse me-”

 

The man screamed and leapt about two feet into the air. Within minutes a swarm of security people and doctors had filled the room. They surrounded Sam, jabbering questions and accusations and prodding him with various instruments.

 

“CUT IT OUT!” Sam yelled.

 

They all froze and stared at him.

 

“Would someone please explain what is going on?” he asked politely. They seemed speechless all of a sudden. “Let’s start easy. Where am I?”

 

“You’re in the morgue of Lawrence Memorial Hospital,” Lab Coat Guy told him.

 

“Okay.” Creepy. “Why?”

 

“Because you’re dead.”

 

Sam looked down at his body and prodded at his leg just to test it was real. “Fairly sure I’m not.”

 

“You were,” one of the doctors said. “You died during surgery an hour ago.”

 

“Surgery? Why would I need surgery? I’m fine!”

 

“You weren’t. You were in a car crash.”

 

Sam vaguely remembered stealing the Impala and heading towards the I-29 north bound. He had tried to take a bend too fast and he had lost control – there had been the sound of screeching metal and shattering glass and then nothing. He had woken up here.

 

“There isn’t even a scratch on you now,” the doctor said. “It’s impossible.”

 

“No, it’s a _miracle_ ,’ Lab Coat guy breathed.

 

What was it Dean had said during that last fight with Dad before he left? Something about angels?

 

“Well, whatever it was, I’m fine now, so can I go home?”

 

“All our tests are saying you’re perfectly healthy so I don’t see why not… Does anyone know if the boy’s parents are still here?”

 

“They are,” a security officer spoke up. “His mother didn’t want to leave until her other son arrived.”

 

Sam perked up at that. “Dean? Dean is on his way here?”

 

“I think so…”

 

Okay, having a near death (or actual death) experience wasn’t fun, but if it got his family back together Sam was more than happy to have made the sacrifice.

 

“Can you take me to my parents now please?”

 

“They’re not going to believe this,” someone muttered.

 

“Their son is alive. They’re not going to care how it happened.”

 

It was a strange procession of people that led Sam through the hospital to the waiting room; it seemed they all wanted to witness his parents’ reaction to seeing him.

 

The room was practically deserted until they got there. Through the press of bodies surrounding him, Sam saw his parents sitting next to each other, hands clasped. Dad’s head was bowed, but Mom kept glancing hopefully towards the opposite doorway, almost as though she was expecting someone.

 

“Mary, he won’t come,” Dad said quietly. He sounded so lifeless, so defeated. “I drove him away. We’ve lost both of our children, and it’s my fault.”

 

“He’ll be here, John.”

 

“But after what I said… What I _did_ …”

 

“He’ll be here.”

 

“Mr and Mrs Winchester?” the doctor said.

 

They both looked up, and the crowd parted.

 

Sam gave a little wave. “Hi guys.”

 

Dad stared at him in shock. “S-Sammy?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Oh thank God,” Mom exhaled.

 

His parents rushed forward to sweep him into a hug. The next five minutes were filled with smiles and tears and “You scared us” and “Don’t do that again” and “Thank goodness you’re alright” and “We love you so much”.

 

The hospital staff left the room to give them some privacy.

 

Dad finally pulled away slightly to hold Sam at arm’s length. “But, how…? We saw you die.”

 

Sam shrugged. “I’ve got no clue.”

 

“Sam, where’s your brother?” Mom asked. “Isn’t he with you?”

 

“No…”

 

“I’m here,” came Dean’s voice from the doorway.

 

“Dean!” Sam exclaimed, running towards his brother and practically jumping into his arms.

 

Dean staggered but caught him and gave him a brief squeeze before setting him down again. He smiled down at his little brother and ruffled his hair fondly. “Heya Sammy. It’s good to see you up and around.”

 

“You don’t seem surprised,” Dad said.

 

Dean stiffened, his defences rising automatically as he turned to face his father. “I only came to make sure Sammy was alright. I’m leaving, don’t worry.”

 

Regret flashed across Dad’s features. “Dean, wait – I don’t want to fight. I’m glad you’re here. I’m just… I’m not sure what’s going on. My son died today and now he’s here and he’s fine and you’re back and I couldn’t be happier but… I don’t understand what happened.”

 

Dean sighed. “There’s no point in me trying to explain. You wouldn’t believe me anyway.”

 

“Sam just came back to life. At this point I think I could believe anything.”

 

Dean shook his head. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I can. Not after all this time.”

 

“Then allow me,” Mom said softly.

 

Dean looked at her in surprise. “Mom, what-?”

 

“John… There’s something I should have told you a long time ago.”

 

“Mary? What are you talking about?”

 

“Monsters are real, John. Dean was telling the truth. I know because – because I used to be a hunter. My parents, my family… we were all born and raised in the life, trained to hunt and kill the creatures that go bump in the night.”

 

“Are you serious?”

 

“Yes. Werewolves and shape shifters and vampires and wendigos… all those things Dean drew in Kindergarten and wrote about in his hunter’s journal. They’re real.  Anytime you read a strange story in the newspaper, of bizarre deaths or mysterious disappearances, 90% of the time a monster was behind them. And when the stories stop as suddenly as they started, it was probably because a hunter killed whatever it was. I know it sounds crazy, but it’s true. All of it. Everything Dean has been trying to tell us all this time…”

 

“Why are you telling me this now, instead of 20 years ago?”

 

“I didn’t want to go into the family business. I hated it. I ran away and I married you. I should have told you, but I didn’t want hunting to be a part of my life anymore. And then the night of the fire happened and… I was scared, John. By then I had been pretending to be normal for so long that I didn’t know how to stop. I didn’t want to stop. I was a coward, and because of me Dean had to grow up fighting monsters on his own…”

 

“Not alone,” Dean said grudgingly. “I had Cas.”

 

“Your boyfriend is a hunter too?” Sam piped up. All of this talk about monsters and hunting probably should have freaked him out, but to be honest it was kind of cool that his Mom used to be a superhero and now his brother was one. It was like he was living in the comic books, except it was real and it was both scary and totally awesome at the same time.

 

Dean rolled his eyes. “For crying out loud, Sam, he’s not my boyfriend. Gees, a few rumours here and a few assumptions there and all of a sudden things get blown way out of proportion. Cas is just a friend. And yes, he’s a hunter. Sort of.”

 

“Oh,” Dad said.

 

There was an awkward pause.

 

“I’m sorry, son,” Dad said at last. “I was wrong.”

 

“Yeah, I’m not in a gay relationship. You jumped to your own conclusions with that one.”

 

“Not about that. I was wrong to treat you that way, regardless of who you chose to be or what you chose to do.”

 

“Or _who_ you choose to do,” Sam smirked.

 

“Samuel Winchester!”

 

“Sorry Mom,” he muttered. His dad and brother were getting dangerously sappy and he knew how much Dean hated chick-flick moments so he thought they’d be grateful to him for lightening the mood a little.

 

“But speaking of Cas,” Mom said, putting the conversation back on track. “John, he really _is_ an angel. He’s the reason Dean survived the fire that night. He’s the reason Sammy’s alive right now.”

 

Dean twitched.

 

“Dean, where is he? I want to thank him.”

 

“Me, too. Also, I probably owe him an apology-”

 

“Cas couldn’t make it,” Dean said curtly. There was a strain in his voice, a tightness around his mouth, pain in his eyes. “But it’s fine. I found another way.”

 

A chill settled over them; a sudden sense of foreboding.

 

“Dean…?”

 

“Sammy’s alive, and he’s going to stay that way. That’s all that matters.”

 

“No it’s not. Dean, you matter too. Whatever’s going on, let us help.”

 

“Don’t worry about it.”

 

“Dean, are you in trouble?” Dad asked. “Because I might not understand all of this stuff yet but I’m willing to try, and if my boy needs help… I’m here for you. Even if it is 16 years late.”

 

The corner of Dean’s lips curled into a half-hearted smile. “Thanks. Really, it means a lot. But there’s nothing you can do.”

 

“I’m pretty handy with a gun you know.”

 

Dean huffed a laugh. “Guns aren’t much use against what’s coming.”

 

“Dean, what is it? Please let us help you.”

 

“You can’t.”

 

“Dean-”

 

His head whipped to the side. “Did you hear that?”

 

“Hear what?”

 

“Barking,” Dean whispered. “There, again! It’s getting louder.”

 

“Dean, we’re in a hospital, they wouldn’t let dogs-”

 

“Whoa!” Dean recoiled from them, stumbling back against a wall. “What’s wrong with your faces?”

 

“Nothing, Dean, we’re fine! What’s wrong?”

 

“They’re coming,” Dean gasped. “I thought I had more time but they’re coming now.”

 

“Who? What? Dean, talk to us!”

 

Dean shoved all the doors closed and then grabbed Mom’s shirt, pulling her close. “Listen to me. A demon is after Sam. His name’s Azazel, he has yellow eyes, he’s got some sort of plan for Sam and other kids like him, something to do with feeding them demon blood when they were six months old.”

 

“Hang on, what?” Sam exclaimed.

 

“Cas has gone AWOL. He might have just taken off, but he might be missing, or dead. Keep a lookout for him, and if you get into trouble a little prayer can’t hurt.”

 

“Dean-”

 

“There’s a hunter named Bobby Singer who lives in Sioux Falls. He took me in, he knows a lot of what’s been going on and he can protect you if you need it. His number’s in my phone.” Dean shoved his cell phone into Mom’s hands.

 

“The demon can die, Mom. Find a way to kill it. Look after Sammy for me, okay?”

 

“Dean-”

 

“ _Promise me_!”

 

“Okay, I promise, but Dean-”

 

The door slammed open of its own accord.

 

As far as Sam could see there was nothing there but Dean went as white as a sheet, eyes wide and frightened. He turned slowly.

 

“It’s here.”

 

ooOOoo


	17. Chapter 17

Dean stayed very still. “Mom…Dad… take Sammy and run.”

 

“Dean, we’re not leaving you here!” Mary didn’t know what Dean had done and she didn’t know what god-awful creature was standing in that doorway, but she did know that she wasn’t about to abandon her son to face yet another monster alone.

 

“I don’t want you to see-” His voice broke, a single tear spilling down his cheek. “Please. I’m begging you.”

 

Mary grasped at his sleeve, trying to pull him with her. “Dean-”

 

He spun abruptly and pushed her away with all of his strength. “ _GO!”_

Mary stumbled into her husband and tried to lurch back towards her son but before she could reach him something yanked his legs out from under him. He crashed to the floor.

 

Three deep gashes tore their way down his leg.

 

“Dean!” Sammy cried.

 

“Sammy, don’t look-” Dean gasped out. His back arched and blood spurted from his chest. A scream tore out of his throat.

 

John rushed forward, snatching up a chair and throwing it in the direction of the invisible creature. It bounced off nothing and they heard the echo of a snarl.

 

Claws raked down Dean’s arm, stripping it to ribbons. Dean screamed and Sam screamed louder: “No! Dean!”

 

Mary grabbed Sammy and pulled him to her, belatedly covering his eyes. She longed for a gun or a knife or something, _anything_ , but she wasn’t a hunter anymore, she didn’t carry those things with her and never more had she regretted making that decision than in that moment when she realised that hunting was the only thing that could have kept her family safe.

 

John tried to tackle the creature but he was thrown across the room and slammed against the wall.

 

Dean was screaming and choking and blood was spilling everywhere.

 

Sammy was hysterical, fighting to break free from her arms to run to his brother but Mary wouldn’t let him go, not when Dean had done this to protect him.

 

Besides, it was already too late.

 

Dean’s cries cut off mid-scream. Blood gurgled in his throat. His breath rattled.

 

His body gave one last feeble twitch and was still.

 

Silence.

 

John climbed painfully to his feet and staggered over to his eldest son. He dropped to his knees beside the broken body, heedless of the blood that soaked through his jeans. “Dean?” He slipped a hand beneath Dean’s head and raised it gently. “Dean? Son?”

 

Green eyes, once filled with life and mischief, stared blankly.

 

“Is he-?” Sam tried to ask, but words failed him.

 

“I’m sorry, Sammy,” Mary whispered.

 

“I wanna see him, let me see him! Dean!”

 

“No, baby, don’t look. Don’t look. He doesn’t – he didn’t want you to – he wants you to remember him the way he was. Not like this.” Oh god, not like this.

 

Her son lay in a pool of his own blood, torn completely to shreds. Mary was never going to be able to get the image out of her head. It was seared there, a permanent reminder that she had failed.

 

A parent should never have to watch their child die. Today, Mary had seen death claim both of her children. She should have protected them. She should have been the one to save Sam. She should be lying dead in Dean’s place.

 

This was an agony she deserved.

 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” She knew it wasn’t good enough. Sorry couldn’t bring Dean back.

 

Sam struggled weakly against her but then collapsed in her arms, sobbing into her chest. Mary tightened her embrace, trying to be the support her baby needed, even as her entire world was falling apart.

 

She had rejected Sam’s death, not letting herself feel it, refusing to believe it, holding onto the hope that a miracle was on its way.

 

But there was no hope for Dean. If Cas was going to show up he would have been here by now. He would have stopped this.

 

She was wrong. Angels weren’t watching over him after all.

 

She shouldn’t have expected them to. She was Dean’s _mother_. She had one job, and that was to look after her children.

 

Now Dean was dead and Sam was heartbroken.

 

John was silent, but his shoulders shook with grief as he cradled Dean’s lifeless body in his arms.

 

Two minutes. In the end they only really had two minutes together. Two minutes spent reunited as a family. Two minutes being truthful and honest with each other. Two minutes listening without judgement. Two minutes mending bridges. Two minutes apologising. Two minutes loving and accepting. Two minutes believing that they might actually be okay.

 

But their one shot at finding happiness had been ripped from them.

 

Monsters had torn her family apart, just as she always feared they would.

 

Well, Mary wasn’t going to lie down and take it this time. She was sick of letting monsters run her life. She was sick of living in fear. She was sick of having loved ones stolen from her. She was sick of standing back and doing nothing while evil prospered.

 

This was the last straw.

 

Dean was _dead._

 

And so was the demon who had killed him.

 

“Azazel,” Mary hissed.

 

“W-what?” Sammy hiccoughed.

 

“The yellow-eyed demon. He did this. He’s the one who started it all. And he is going to _pay._ ”

 

John gently closed Dean’s eyes and draped his leather jacket over the body before he stood to his feet, grim determination settling over his features. “Where do we start?”

 

ooOOoo

 

Try as he might, Bobby had not been able to get a wink of sleep. Dean and Cas had left some time last night and he hadn’t heard anything from either of them since. Dean wasn’t answering his phone, Cas wasn’t answering his prayers.

 

There was a slight possibility that everything was fine. Maybe Cas had healed Sam and the Winchesters had welcomed Dean back with open arms. If that was the case, Bobby could see how he might be forgotten by the wayside.

 

But then again, there were a million things that could have gone wrong. Castiel might have had an in-flight emergency and crash landed in the middle of nowhere. Castiel might not have had enough angel juice to save Sam. John Winchester might have kicked Dean out again. Something even worse could have happened, and in Bobby’s experience it was always the worst possible option that came to pass.

 

So he worried, and he got mad at Dean for making him worry. He hoped that Dean would get his ass back here soon so he could yell at him for making him worry like this and then hug him tight for the reassurance that there had been nothing to worry about after all.

 

When the doorbell rang early the next morning it took Bobby all of three seconds to open the door.

 

“Boy, you better have a good excuse for-”

 

It wasn’t Dean.

 

A man, woman and child stood on his doorstep. He didn’t think he knew them, except the man looked somewhat familiar and the woman had remarkably similar features to Dean…

 

His expression darkened. “The Winchesters, I presume.”

 

“Y-”

 

In an instant Bobby had his shotgun cocked and aimed at Dean’s so-called parents. They barely flinched, which was a testament to their respective histories as a marine and a hunter, but Mary did push the kid behind her so she wasn’t taking him as an idle threat. Good.

 

“You’re not welcome here,” he told them. “Get off my property before I shoot ya.”

 

“Dean sent us,” the woman said.

 

Bobby narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “You’ve seen him?”

 

“Yes. He’s - He’s the reason Sam’s okay.”

 

Bobby was glad to know the little squirt had made it; from the way Dean talked about his brother it was obvious that Sam meant the world to him, sibling rivalry notwithstanding.

 

He dared to let himself relax, just a little. “Cas came through, huh?”

 

“Well, no. The angel never showed.”

 

“What? He left here with Dean. They should have turned up at the hospital together.”

 

“Dean came alone. He didn’t know where Cas was.”

 

Bobby had a very bad feeling about this. “So then how is Sam alive right now? And where is Dean?”

 

“I think… I don’t know for sure, but I think Dean…” Mary drew in a breath, trying to steady herself. Her hands were shaking. Tears were welling up in her eyes. “I’m sorry, Bobby. I think he made a deal.”

 

Bobby froze. “No.”

 

“It’s the only explanation I can think of. I’ve never known a deal term to span less than ten years, but Sammy’s here and the thing that – that killed Dean, right in front of us… I think it was a hell hound.”

 

“Dean’s _dead_?”

 

But he could see it in their faces. More than sorrow, more than grief, their eyes bore the shell-shocked look of people who had seen true horror.

 

Death by hell hound was about as graphic and agonising as it could get.

 

But it didn’t end there.

 

Hell hounds were demonic pit bulls that collected on deals. They came for the soul and once the body was dead the soul was dragged into the Pit.

 

Dean wasn’t just dead. He was in Hell.

 

“Thank you for coming all this way to tell me in person,” Bobby said stiffly.

 

“From what I understand, you’re the one who took him in when we-”

 

“Kicked him out onto the street?” Bobby filled in. The Winchesters flinched and Bobby felt a tiny burst of vindictive pleasure. He thought he had been angry with them before but now he was furious. Their negligence had done this to Dean. They were his parents. If they had just _done their jobs_ –

 

“We were wrong,” John said. “If I could change what happened that day believe me I would do it in a heartbeat.”

 

“It’s too late,” Bobby said sharply. “Your son bought a one-way ticket downstairs. There’s no coming back from that. No one has ever busted out of the Pit before. He’s going to be tortured for all of eternity until everything that made him good and _Dean_ has been burned away. He was the bravest, most heroic, selfless, compassionate and loving kid I have ever met and now he’s gone because _you_ couldn’t keep your family safe.”

 

“You don’t think I know that?” Mary said. “I am never going to be able to forgive myself. _Never_. But like you said, it’s too late and I am just going to have to live with the fact that I _killed my son_.”

 

“Yes you are. And you can go do it somewhere else. Get off my property.”

 

Mary stepped forward to prevent the door from closing on them.

 

“No. This isn’t about us. Dean gave us a job to do, and I intend to see it done. But we need your help.”

 

“What job?”

 

“Dean told me to kill the yellow-eyed demon. It was his dying wish, Bobby.”

 

Bobby sighed. “Of course it was. He wants Sam safe.” And that’s what it all boiled down to in the end. Dean would do anything for his little brother; even die. Even if Bobby had somehow known what he planned to do, there would have been no stopping him from making that deal.

 

Mary was right. There was only the mission now.

 

“I’m going to find and kill that son of a bitch once and for all,” Mary swore. “But if I’m going to do that I need to know everything you know.”

 

“Fine,” Bobby grunted. “But first I’m going to need a good stiff belt.”

 

Bobby went looking for a bottle of whiskey, leaving the door open in unspoken and reluctant invitation for the Winchesters to follow him inside.

 

He chugged down amber liquid until the sharp stabbing pain in his gut was reduced to a dull ache and the grief of losing the boy he had loved as a son had faded enough to enable him to function.

 

Wordlessly, he passed the bottle to the Winchesters. They looked like they were on the verge of emotional breakdowns too and liquid comfort was the only thing he could or would provide.

 

“Right,” Bobby said gruffly. “We got work to do.”

 

ooOOoo


	18. Chapter 18

“Here’s what I know,” Bobby opened. “And I’ll warn you ahead of time, this is a story that is hard to swallow even when the supernatural has already been incorporated into your world view. I don’t pretend to have all the facts either. But from what I’ve learned from Dean and Cas, both together and separately, I think I have a basic grasp of the situation.”

 

“We’re listening,” John said.

 

“Okay. The basic premise of this tale is that time is fluid and, if it takes their fancy, angels have the juice to bend it however which way they want.”

 

“You mean time travel? What’s that got to do with-?”

 

“Just listen. Messing with time is tricky and dangerous, so the angels only really use it for educational purposes. Once upon a time, the angel Castiel took Dean – as an adult – back in time to show him something. He was supposed to learn what the angels knew about the demon Azazel and his plans, so he could use that knowledge to continue their work. But Dean wasn’t content to be a passive observer of events. He interfered, and in doing so he changed history.”

 

“But if he went back and changed time, surely he would have changed things to the point that he wouldn’t ever go back to change time, so it wouldn’t have happened, so it couldn’t have happened.”

 

“The theory is that he created an alternate reality that runs in parallel with the original timeline. Everything that happened still happened, but he also set off a new run of dominoes that has created the world we are living in right now. Cas said Dean’s actions snapped the original thread, making it impossible for Cas to return to where they had started. He was trapped in this new reality, and what Dean did was causing tidal waves of change.”

 

“What did Dean do, exactly?”

 

“He saved your life, Mary. In the original timeline, you died in Sam’s nursery. The demon killed you and John, you became a hunter to get revenge. Dean and Sam grew up in the life, without a mother, and from what little Cas has said about that timeline a lot of bad shit went down. So it’s not hard to understand why Dean would have done what he could to stop that from happening if he had the chance.”

 

“How did he do it?” John asked.

 

“Well, Mary, I’ll ask you. Why didn’t you go into Sam’s nursery that night?”

 

“Because someone warned me not to.”

 

“Who?”

 

“It was a hunter who…claimed to have knowledge of the future… Oh my god. That must have been Dean _._ Our son, our son from the future. I _met_ him. I can’t believe he never let on.”

 

“Would you have believed him if he told you?”

 

“Probably not, but – this is crazy.”

 

“No kidding,” Bobby agreed. “I’ve had years to try and wrap my head around this and it still boggles the mind. But here’s the thing. Dean managed to prevent your death, but he couldn’t stop Azazel completely. He still got to Sam.”

 

“What did he do?”

 

“He made Sam drink demon blood. Before you ask what that does, I don’t know. I think Cas did but he wouldn’t tell us. I’m betting on nothing good. But Dean thought that killing Azazel would protect Sam, and I’m all for giving it a shot.”

 

“The last thing Dean said was ‘The demon can be killed’,” Mary said. “He said it like he knew it for a fact. But as far as I know, killing a demon is impossible. I know how to identify them, trap them, hurt them and exorcise them, but there is nothing in the lore to suggest that there is a way to kill them. I’ve only met one hunter crazy enough to try to kill a demon and he- oh!”

 

“What?”

 

“The hunter was Dean. The other – older, wow, this is confusing. But when adult Dean showed up all those years ago he said he was hunting something. A demon. He said he was going to kill it. My parents and I laughed it off because no one can kill a demon, but if it was Dean, and if he was from the future then maybe… maybe he knew something we didn’t.”

 

“Mary, this is very important,” Bobby stressed. “The adult Dean is the only one who had full knowledge of the future. If he knew for a fact that the demon could be killed, he must have seen the demon die. You have to try to remember. What did he do? How was he going to kill it?”

 

“He knew that the demon was going to be at the Walsh’s, but he couldn’t have gone there straight away because my Dad and I got there first. Dean turned up with a gun…”

 

“A gun?”

 

“Yes. He tried to get a shot off but the demon fled its meat suit before he could.”

 

“What sort of gun could kill a demon?”

 

Bobby scratched his head. “Nothing I’ve ever heard of,” he confessed.

 

“Wait…. I think… I remember once my Dad told me something about a special gun,” Mary said. “It was a bedtime story, when I was little, about a gun that could kill anything. It was made by Samuel- something. He had the same name as my father, and a line of weapons was named after him…”

 

“Can’t be Winchester,” John said.

 

“No.”

 

“Well, there aren’t that many US gun brands,” Bobby said. “Let’s see – there’s Mossburg, Remington, Bushmaster, Smith & Wesson, Colt-”

 

“Colt! Samuel Colt. My dad told me that he was a hunter, like us but on horseback. Legend says that on the night that Hailey’s Comet was overhead he made a special gun with thirteen bullets. He used them sparingly over his lifetime, but when he vanished so did the gun. As far as my father knew, it was either lost or it never actually existed. He told the story like it was a fairy tale.”

 

“But you said adult Dean had a gun he was going to use against the demon.”

 

“You think he found it?”

 

“Maybe he had foreknowledge about where it was, or rather where it had been.”

 

“So he went to get it. Brought it back.”

 

“It couldn’t have been more than a couple of hours out of Lawrence, then.”

 

“But where did it go?”

 

“I don’t know. Dean vanished after I made the deal. I searched the area but only ever found the rented car he was driving. No gun.”

 

“Well it couldn’t have vanished into thin air,” John said,

 

“Maybe it reverted back to where it was supposed to be once Dean’s interference in the timeline had stopped,” Bobby suggested.

 

“So it went back to where he got it from?” Mary asked.

 

Bobby shrugged. “Maybe. It would help if we knew where that was. Are you sure you don’t remember anything else?”

 

“I’m sorry but that’s it. I know Dean talked to my father more but I wasn’t in the room, so I don’t know if he told Dad anything else important. Even if he did, Dad’s gone. There’s no way of knowing.”

 

“Great,” Bobby sighed. “Well, I’ll call around my hunter contacts, see if anyone knows anything. Your parents were hunters – you got anyone you could call?”

 

“It’s been more than 20 years; I’ve long since lost contact with all of them. But there was one woman I met who might be able to help…”Mary dug an address book and her phone out of her purse. “She’s a psychic who lives in Lawrence. She could sense that alternate reality stuff around Dean – maybe there’s a way she can trace adult Dean’s footsteps back to where he found the Colt.”

 

“Worth a shot.”

 

“Here it is. Missouri Moseley.”

 

Mary dialled the number.

 

“Hello, Missouri? It’s – how did you know – right. Yes. I’m calling about – okay, I know you know, but I’d like to explain it anyway to make sure we’re both on the same page. Thank you. You told me once that my son Dean was a focal point or something. That he could change history? Well, it turns out that he already did…” Mary went on to explain most of what they had just pieced together about what had happened back in 1973. “…so I need to know. Do you think it is possible that the original Dean could have left traces that you could sense – yes, exactly, like ripples in time. Is that something your psychic abilities would be sensitive to? Even 22 years later? Okay, that’s great, that’s great news. Thank you.” Mary covered the mouthpiece. “She says if I can take her back to the place where Dean gave me the warning about November 2nd she should be able to track his impact on the timeline from there.”

 

“That’s the best lead we got,” Bobby said.

 

Mary nodded. “Missouri? I can be there late this afternoon if that suits you? Yes. Thank you. See you then.”

 

They agreed that Mary would take the truck to travel back to Lawrence while John and Bobby started working on ways to find the demon.

 

Sam listened to all of this from the stairwell and scarpered upstairs before his mom could discover him eavesdropping on her way out the door.

 

It was a lot to process. Sam was fairly sure he’d need a degree in theoretical astrophysics before he could be able to understand all of this talk about time travel, alternate realities and ripples in time. To be perfectly honest, he could care less.

 

What did any of it matter? Even if they worked out what had happened in the past, it was already done and over. They couldn’t change the outcome and even if they could it would be an impossible choice – to let Mom die in the hope that Dean would live to adulthood or to save her life knowing that Dean would die at sixteen as a consequence.  Sam was of the firm opinion that time shouldn’t be meddled with; if Dean had left things the way they were he would be alive and they wouldn’t know to miss the normal life they’d never had.

 

But he couldn’t be angry at his brother. He missed him too much. Besides, he knew that Dean had died to save him. Dean had gone to _Hell_ to save him.

 

Sam was never even going to get the chance to say thank you, or sorry, or Happy Birthday.

 

Dean was never going to have another birthday.

 

Sam thought he had run out of tears but ten minutes later Dean’s old Metallica shirt was soaked through again and Sam’s eyes were red.

 

He hated this. He wanted his brother back.

 

He knew that Bobby had said there was no way to break a person out of Hell, but from the sound of things they hadn’t thought a demon could be killed until half an hour ago. How could they be so sure that Dean couldn’t be saved? Why wouldn’t they even try? What use was getting revenge against the demon who had killed him if it wouldn’t bring Dean back?

 

Well, the grown-ups might have given up but Sam would not surrender so easily. He would never be able to live with himself if he did.

 

All he needed was a miracle, and he knew just the angel for the job.

 

Sam knelt down beside the bed that had been Dean’s in the week he lived here with Bobby. He folded his hands together and closed his eyes.

 

“Dear Cas,” he prayed. “It’s me, Sam. Dean’s brother. I need your help. I don’t know where you’ve gone or why you left when Dean needed you the most, but you need to come back now. I don’t know if you know but Dean… Dean made a demon deal to save me and a hell hound killed him.” Sam shuddered at the memory. Mom had tried to block out the worst of it but Sam could still hear his brother’s screams and he could still smell the blood and he had _known_ that his brother was dying a horrible death only metres away and there had been nothing he could do.

 

“It was awful, Cas,” Sam whispered. “Bobby said that Dean is in Hell and there’s no way to get him out. But you’re an _angel_. You can fly and heal people and travel through time. There has to be something you can do to save Dean. There _has_ to be. You can’t just leave him there, Cas. He trusted you. He needs you. So wherever you are, if you could get here…” Those useless tears were making an appearance again; Sam scrubbed them away with his sleeve.

 

“Please, Cas. Please save Dean. You’re the only one who can.”

 

ooOOoo

 


	19. Chapter 19

Cas could hear everything.

 

Every scream. Every curse. Every sob. Every broken whimper.

 

Dean’s agony echoed in his mind and bounced off the walls of his cell, surrounding him, enveloping him, overwhelming him. It was an endless stream of torture and torment, the beginning of eternity. It was Dean’s soul being torn and ripped and mutilated and flayed. It was Dean screaming for help. It was Dean begging for Cas to save him.

 

Cas couldn’t bear it.

 

He pounded his fists against the walls until skin split and blood spilled and bones cracked. He threw his weight against the bars that shuddered but held. He shrieked curses at Heaven and angels and God himself.

 

It was futile. No one was listening. There was no escape.

 

Dean kept screaming.

 

He was mostly incoherent, out of his mind with pain, his consciousness drowned, only the animal left howling.

 

But there were moments when the screams formed words.

 

_“Cas!”_

_“Please, god, somebody help me!”_

_“Make it stop. Make it stop. Oh god, please make it stop.”_

_“I can’t. I can’t. No. No! NO!”_

_“Don’t leave me here!”_

_“Cas, where are you?”_

_“Why did you leave me?”_

_“He’s coming. He’s coming back. It’s going to start all over. I can’t take it anymore. Please god, not again.”_

_“Cas, please!”_

_“I’m begging you.”_

_“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Whatever I did, please, I’m sorry. Forgive me. I’m sorry…”_

_“Cas, I can’t do this.”_

_“I need you.”_

_“You’re not coming, are you? You’ve left me here to die.”_

_“Cas?”_

_“Cas…”_

 

Cas remembered that little boy he had caught in his arms. He remembered the flop of soft blonde hair and the green eyes that had stared up at him in such wonder and awe.

 

He remembered the child who had crawled into his lap and fallen asleep against his chest. He remembered the smudge of his eyelashes against his cheeks and the small fingers that had curled into his shirt.

 

He remembered peals of laughter as Dean watched him try to manipulate the small device with lots of confusing buttons that were supposed to control the movements of a tiny figure on a screen.

 

He remembered Dean’s oomph of surprise as he caught the ball Cas had thrown with a little too much force and his mischievous smile as he threw it back twice as hard so Cas stumbled in his attempt to catch it.

 

He remembered gentle hands and soothing words that patched him up when he was injured.

 

He remembered life and joy and hope and a future that should have been bright and happy.

 

But all he could hear was Dean screaming.

 

It broke his heart.

 

ooOOoo

 

Cas was in an isolated cell. He’d had no contact with anyone for weeks. Trapped alone with only Dean’s screams for company, he was slowly going crazy.

 

He was curled up in the corner, head wedged between his knees, hands trying in vain to cover his ears and block out the noise.

 

“So this is what your time on Earth has done to you,” a voice said.

 

Cas looked up in surprise and was shocked to see his own angelic face staring back at him. He scrambled to his feet.

 

“Castiel!”

 

It had been so long since he had been without a vessel, Cas almost didn’t recognise himself. The angel before him was younger, his Grace burned brighter and his face was expressionless. He was an angel in his prime, commander of his own garrison, unquestioning in his obedience, the perfect soldier. This was the angel Cas once had been.

 

“Hello, Castiel,” his counter-part intoned.

 

“They permitted you to visit me here?” Cas asked. He was well aware of the paradox their duality presented – that was why he had avoided returning to Heaven for so long. Having two Castiel’s standing within feet of each other was surely a disaster waiting to happen.

 

Castiel was silent; an answer unto itself.

 

“Why have you come, then?”

 

Castiel paused, a glimmer of uncertainty wavering through the soldier’s mask. “It is… loud.”

 

“What is?”

 

“The human.”

 

Dean. Even now, Cas could still hear his cries. “You can hear him?”

 

“He calls for me by name. Rather, he calls for you, but we are one and the same.”

 

“He is in pain, helpless and alone. I promised to protect him and even now he clings to the hope that I will come for him. But I am _trapped_ in here.” He kicked the bars hard and nerve-endings flared in warning that he was doing injury to his vessel.

 

Castiel’s eyebrows raised slightly. “That was emotion. You are experiencing an emotional reaction to the human’s predicament and your inability to reach him.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“But you are an angel. We are above emotion. That is what separates us from them.”

 

“Emotions are discouraged, but that does not mean we are incapable of feeling. In fact, though you may not recognise them for what they are, you are experiencing emotions right now.”

 

Castiel frowned. “I am not.”

 

“Dean’s screams are distressing for you. If you were unbothered by them you would not have come here against orders.”

 

“I have no connection to the boy.”

 

“Not to the same degree that I do. But you do know him. You have been hearing his prayers since he was four years old.”

 

“He was never praying to me. Those words were intended for your ears only. I tuned them out much of the time.”

 

“Then why can you not ignore his cries now?”

 

“They are loud.”

 

“They are upsetting. You are listening to an innocent child screaming for help. You know he does not deserve to be in Hell. You don’t know why Heaven is waiting so long to send in a rescue mission. You hope they will choose your garrison when the time finally comes because you know you will not rest until the child is saved.”

 

“How…?”

 

“I am you. I have been where you are. I remember having those same thoughts and doubts when Dean fell the first time. I imagine it must be even harder for you this time around because Dean is so young. Ignoring his suffering goes against every instinct we have.”

 

“He is just one human. He is not enough to make me question the orders of Heaven.”

 

“His name is Dean! He is sixteen years old. He has a mother and a father and a little brother he loves more than anything in the world. He likes classic rock music and old cowboy movies. He used to be afraid of flying. His favourite food is pie. He wants to be a hunter so he can save people. He is courageous and humorous and caring and selfless.”

 

“Why are you telling me all this?”

 

“Because you need to understand that there is no other human like him and there never will be again.”

 

“All humans are created to be unique. You speak so strongly for this one only because you know him personally. You… care about him.”

 

“Yes I do. I am not ashamed to admit it.”

 

“I am sorry, but if Dean was meant to go to Hell, then who are we to question fate’s design? This is all part of God’s plan.”

 

“God’s plan? No. Our Father loves humanity. He ordered us to protect and cherish his creation. Do you think that if He were still giving the orders in Heaven this child would be abandoned in the Pit as his brother prays for his salvation? This is not our Father’s work.”

 

“We cannot know His mind…”

 

“No, we cannot, which is why we shall never know why He left. But I am certain that He no longer resides in Heaven because he would not condone hastening the Apocalypse for the sake of pursuing Paradise on Earth. He loves his creation; that much I do know. He would not destroy it prematurely.”

 

“What are you talking about?”

 

“Of course, they haven’t told you. Heaven intends for Dean to break the first seal on Lucifer’s cage. He is to be the catalyst that sets into motion the chain reaction of events that will begin Armageddon.”

 

“That is not true.”

 

“Zachariah told me himself. That is why they stopped me from healing his brother. That is why they locked me in here. They wanted Dean to sell his soul. It is all part of their ‘grand plan’. They want the world to end and they could care less about the people who will die as a result.”

 

“You’re lying.”

 

“No. I wish I were. I do not enjoy the knowledge that I have spent millennia following the orders of a corrupt Heaven. But if we do not stop them, they will allow the Apocalypse to play out while pretending to oppose it and it won’t just be people who die – angels will, too. In the timeline I come from, six of our brothers died in a single week. This plan of theirs – it is death and chaos and destruction. It is _wrong._ And somewhere deep down you know it.”

 

In the silence that fell between them, Dean’s screams suddenly seemed far louder than before.

 

Castiel appeared conflicted. “Even if what you say is true, what do you expect me to do about it? I am just one angel.”

 

Cas grabbed the cell bars, leaning closer to his counter-part, feeling hope flare up within him for the first time since he had been imprisoned. “Break me out.”

 

“Two angels is not an army.”

 

“I’m not looking for an army. I just need to get to Dean before it is too late.”

 

“If I let you out, we will both be hunted. We will both be killed.”

 

“Dean Winchester is worth dying for.”

 

“You are asking me to lay down my life for someone I have never even met.”

 

“Then don’t do this for him. Do it for you.”

 

Castiel frowned in confusion and Cas couldn’t help but smile a little. “You do not want to live in a Dean-less universe. Trust me.”

 

Castiel narrowed his eyes. “What you mean is that you do not want to live without him. You want me to do this for you.”

 

“We are one and the same, are we not?”

 

Castiel shook his head. “This is madness.”

 

Cas waited with bated breath and eventually Castiel sighed. “But I do not wish to see the world burn. And… I would like Dean Winchester to laugh again.”

 

The screams still echoed, a constant reminder that Dean was suffering. “I know what you mean.”

 

“Brace yourself,” Castiel said. Ever so carefully, he touched a single finger to Cas’s hand where it gripped the cell bars.

 

The paradox of two identical beings inhabiting the same space caused an explosion. Both Castiel’s were blown backwards, but when they recovered enough to stand they saw that the bars that had separated them were gone.

 

“Go now,” Castiel said. The prison block suddenly began filling with bright light and a high-pitched noise, heralding the arrival of an arch-angel. Castiel gritted his teeth and settled into a battle-ready stance, angel blade gripped tightly in his hand. “I will try to hold off the forces of Heaven for as long as I can.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

“Go!”

 

Cas took a deep breath, spread his wings wide and dove from the Heavens. He passed through Earth’s atmosphere, broke through Earth’s crust and plunged directly into Hell.

 

ooOOoo


	20. Chapter 20

 

The screams were louder here.

 

Millions of souls shrieked and wailed, the sound of their anguish a cacophony that reverberated off the walls and threatened to drive Cas insane. He could barely hear Dean now but he could still sense the agony that rippled across his prayer line and he knew that Dean still called for him.

 

His soul was a beacon of light in the darkness that drew Cas in deeper.

 

The last time Cas had been here Hell was under siege from his garrison. At first, demons had thrown themselves into battle like waves dashing against a rocky shore and angels had effortlessly ripped through their ranks. As they began to realise the power of their enemy the lesser demons fled in terror, while those older and stronger pushed through to the forefront. The charge had disintegrated into a one-on-one melee and Cas had been forced to leave his soldiers behind to pursue the mission. Many angels had died, but in the end Cas was successful. He had raised Dean.

 

But this time Cas was alone. If he failed, there was no one to take his place. Dean would be lost.

 

A demon leapt out of the shadows onto his back. Claws dug into his shoulder. Teeth gnashed at his neck. Cas spun and threw the creature to the ground. It scrabbled to stand but Cas slapped a palm against its forehead and a burst of Grace burned the twisted soul to ashes.

 

Cas stared at his hand in shock. His Grace had been waning for years but now he felt power pulsing through him. When Castiel had touched him, the shock of their paradoxical meeting must have revitalised his core. That was good. Maybe he stood a chance after all.

 

More demons came rushing towards him, alerted to his presence by the flash of light. He launched into the fray. Demons ripped and slashed at him. Hand-to-hand combat skills he had refined with Dean and Bobby enabled him to block and parry blows, dodge attacks, duck into openings and move in for the kill. He felled two demons, twisted a gnarled limb so the creature howled and released him, shoved an assailant into the wall, seized the horn of one’s head and flung it down the passageway into three others, killed another. He could tell that many of these demons had never fought an angel before and he made use of that fact. They were fast but he was faster. His wings flared wide, knocking half a dozen over like pins from that bowling game he had played with Dean. Light bursting sporadically from his vessel blinded the creatures accustomed to perpetual darkness and his hands burned through them.

 

A dozen lay dead at his feet but more were coming.

 

Hell was filled with demons. The supply was almost inexhaustible.

 

Cas surged forward, pressing towards his goal. His kills were brutal, efficient, nothing pretty or elegant but effective.

 

Just as he had taken out three demons in quick succession a knife arced out of nowhere, embedding in his chest. It was a strangely familiar sensation. Cas pulled it out, much to the shock of the demon who had stabbed him, and recognised it to be the same knife the adult Dean had tried to kill him with the first time they met. He took a closer look at the demon.

 

“You must be Ruby,” he said. She was supposed to be the one to corrupt Sam Winchester.

 

He stabbed the knife straight through her eye and kept going. Her body thudded to the ground, lifeless.

 

The knife proved useful. Cas dispatched demons faster than ever, leaving carnage in his wake. He knew exactly where he was going; he had been there before.

 

_I’m coming, Dean._

 

ooOOoo

 

Green eyes watched in terror as the blade inched closer and closer to his face.

 

“So pretty,” Alastair purred. “Such a pretty boy. Makes me wanna strip the skin from your bones.”

 

Dean jerked back instinctively but the chains held him in place. The tip of the knife pressed into his cheek, not quite breaking the skin. He went deadly still, hardly daring to breathe.

 

“That’s right, Dean. Wouldn’t want me to slip now would you? You know how angry I get when you spoil my art work.”

 

He dragged the tip lightly down his chin and across his throat. “Such a beautiful canvas,” he murmured, “ready to be painted in blood. Shall we see what new masterpiece awaits us today?”

 

“Please don’t,” Dean whispered. He didn’t care how weak and pathetic he sounded. He was long since passed caring.

 

“But Dean, you love our sessions together. You never want them to stop. Isn’t that what you told me?”

 

God, he wanted nothing more than to be free from the fear and the pain. But the alternative…

 

“You enjoy being on the rack. Spread-eagled for my viewing pleasure.” Alastair raked his eyes slowly down Dean’s body and back up again, a smirk playing on his lips. “Bondage play,” he breathed. “Chains around your wrists and ankles, meat hooks embedded in your flesh. Vulnerable. Helpless. The sweet anticipation of the tortures that await you. Never knowing when the pain will begin.” He twisted the blade in the hollow of Dean’s collarbone, slowly, painstakingly, pressing deeper until the skin broke and blood welled up to the surface. He leaned in close, his free hand slipping into Dean’s hair to pull his head back, and lapped at the crimson flow with his tongue. Then he bit down, hard.

 

The smile he offered Dean dribbled with blood.

 

Dean closed his eyes. He couldn’t bear to watch.

 

Fire lanced through his stomach. Dean’s eyes snapped open in shock.

 

Alastair tutted, dragging the blade out of his gut. “Now see what you made me do? It is bad manners to look away from me, Dean.”

 

“S-sorry.”

 

“That’s better. Now, watch closely. You will need these skills someday.” He cut a small incision into Dean’s chest, then used his well-trimmed claws to pull the wound open wider, splitting the skin in a long jagged line. “Maximum pain, minimal damage,” Alastair stated calmly over Dean’s scream. “Then, to maximise trauma…” He dug his claws in deeper, ripping, tearing, burrowing inside. When he pulled his hand out he held a fistful of intestines. “Beautiful, aren’t they? That is the wonderful thing about Hell. I can turn you completely inside out and you won’t die because you’re already dead. You get to be aware of every single sensation, every exquisite ounce of pain. Would you like to see your heart? You can watch it beat in frantic terror as I crush it in my fist.”

 

Alastair took his time, peeling Dean’s skin off layer by layer. He discarded shredded globules of flesh, shaking them off his fingers to drop into the rapidly expanding pool of blood beneath their feet. He tore into muscles and shattered bones like glass. He reached in and gripped Dean’s spine, snapping it in half with a brutal yank that almost ripped it out of his body. He rummaged through Dean’s insides, swirling organs into slush, pulling his heart out as promised. He ensured it remained connected by a few critical nerves so Dean could feel it be reduced to pulp in the demon’s hand.

 

Alastair laughed as Dean screamed until his vocal chords swelled and burst. He destroyed him piece by piece, leaving his eyes until the very last, forcing Dean to bear witness to his own destruction.

 

Only when there was nothing left did Alastair take a step back.

 

The soul repaired itself, as it always did, but it was a little more broken, a little more damaged than before.

 

Dean opened brand new eyes to see that he was whole again.

 

Alastair stood nearby, running his hands through the flame of a torch to sanitise them.

 

“You have the power to end this, Dean,” he said. “I can take you off that rack.”

 

It took all the strength Dean possessed to shake his head.

 

“The torture is going to happen either way. You’re not saving anyone. The only person you can save is yourself.”

 

“I…won’t…hurt…anyone,” Dean rasped.

 

“Pity. I’ll see you tomorrow, Dean.”

 

He walked away, leaving Dean alone.

 

Dean sagged in his chains, lacking the energy to stand even through the meat hooks pulled agonisingly at his flesh. His head dropped.

 

Tears fell.

 

ooOOoo

 

“Five years today, Dean-o!” Alastair announced. “If we were living by Earth time you would be twenty-one by now. A fully-fledged adult ready to take on the world, imagine that. Of course, age is meaningless down here. You ain’t growing any older and nothing about your life is ever going to change. This is all there is. Torture and death, over and over, for all of eternity. We will be here together for your tenth anniversary, and your hundredth, and your thousandth…”

 

Alastair was right. The pain was never going to end. He was trying to be strong, trying to hold on to his humanity, but there was no salvation in sight.

 

He couldn’t do this forever. He couldn’t.

 

And what was the point anyway? He was going to break eventually. He could feel it. He could see it in Alastair’s eyes.

 

What difference did it make to anyone if he gave in now? He was never going to see his family again so he would never have to see their looks of disappointment. Whoever he had to put under the knife was going to be tortured by a demon anyway.

 

By refusing Alastair’s offer he was only hurting himself.

 

“So, what shall it be today?” Alastair asked. “Shall I use my razor to carve you into a new animal? Shall I use fire to bubble the flesh from your bones? Shall I drip acid into your eye and let it burn through into your brain? Shall I shatter every single bone in your body? Shall I use the whip…? Oh, yes, the cat-o-nine-tails, that’s a favourite of mine. You screamed so delightfully the last time I used it, do you remember?”

 

Dean remembered. He remembered every moment of every torture session in vivid techni-colour detail.

 

“Wait,” he whispered. “I’ll do it.”

 

Alastair turned from his table of torture devices, eyebrows raised. “What was that?”

 

“I’ll do it,” Dean said louder. He hated himself. “I’ll do whatever you want. Please, just get me down from here. I’ll do anything.”

 

Alastair began to grin. “Really? You’ll be my apprentice? You’ll torture souls with me?”

 

They were going to be tortured anyway. It didn’t matter. “Yes.”

 

“Well, well, well. I thought the great and famous Dean Winchester would be a tougher egg to crack.”

 

Dean’s jaw clenched. “Are you going to mock me or are you going to get me off this thing?”

 

“So eager to get started. You, Dean, are going to be my best pupil yet.”

 

Dean glared but said nothing; he had made his choice.

 

Alastair moved forward and began yanking meat hooks out of Dean’s body. He screamed at the release of each one and crumpled to the ground when the last one was ripped from his shoulder.

 

The wounds closed over. Slowly, painfully, Dean climbed to his feet. He felt weak and shaky, but he was free. The torture was over.

 

Alastair snapped his fingers and a woman abruptly appeared in Dean’s place on the rack. She was sobbing hysterically.

 

“Here’s your first soul,” Alastair said. “Fresh meat. You, my boy, get the pleasure of being the first one to make her scream.”

 

Dean looked into her eyes. She was clearly terrified out of her wits. He wondered what she had done to be sent down here. He tried to picture her as a mass murderer or something, hoping it would make this easier.

 

“Here, boy.” Alastair pressed the hilt of a knife into Dean’s hand. “Show me that you have been paying attention to the lessons I’ve taught you.”

 

Dean looked down at the blade. It was razor sharp. It would slice through her skin like it was butter; Dean knew because his own skin had been shredded beneath this knife hundreds of times before.

 

“Please,” the woman sobbed. “Please don’t hurt me.”

 

Dean hesitated.

 

“I’m sure you’re aware of this, Dean, but if you don’t do as you’ve been told you will go straight back on the rack. And I won’t be nearly as merciful as I have been thus far. There won’t be any second chances. You will scream for eternity, I promise you that.”

 

Dean raised the knife.

 

“ _Please_!” the woman shrieked.

 

Tears welled up in his eyes. His hands shook. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. He lifted the blade and poised it over her stomach, preparing to make the first cut of hundreds.

 

“Dean, no!”

 

Dean spun around.

 

“Cas?”

 

He stared in shock at his angel. The tan trench coat was torn and tattered and covered in blood and gore. The mop of dark brown hair was dripping with sweat.

 

Dean wasn’t even sure that it could be him. It had been so long.

 

But he would recognise those blue eyes anywhere.

 

“Yes, Dean. It’s me. I’m here.”

 

“Castiel,” Alastair said. “What an unpleasant surprise.”

 

“Alastair.” Cas spun the ornate knife in his hand, shifting into a half-crouch, ready for battle.

 

“You really want to fight me again? Last time it did not end so well for you.”

 

“Get out of my way, Alastair, or I _will_ kill you.”

 

“Now see, you threatened to kill me once before. Swore you wouldn’t let me hurt your precious Dean as I recall. But you didn’t keep your promise, did you Castiel? Tell me, have you heard the boy screaming for you? He was counting on you to protect him, you know. Even when he had forgotten his own name, he always remembered yours. But you let him down boy-o. You weren’t here when he needed you. And now you’re too late.”

 

“No.”

 

“Dean has made his choice. He is mine now.” Alastair threw an arm around Dean’s shoulders, crushing him against his side.

 

“Step away from him, Alastair. This is your final warning.”

 

“So you want to do this the hard way, do you?” Alastair asked. “As you wish. Sorry, Dean, it seems we are going to have to put your torture tutorial on hold for a little while. Pass me the knife so I can dispatch this winged insect, there’s a good boy.”

 

Dean’s grip tightened around the hilt in a silent and terrified refusal.

 

Alastair sighed and with a swift movement snapped Dean’s arm. He yelped and his hand sprung open instinctively. Alastair caught the knife out of the air. “Don’t disobey me, Dean,” he said mildly.

 

Dean was too busy cradling his wounded arm to react fast enough when Alastair suddenly turned the knife on him – it plunged deep into his gut and tore out again.

 

“No!” Cas cried.

 

Dean sank to his knees, too stunned to scream. The pain was supposed to be over.

 

He shouldn’t have disobeyed. He should have known that Alastair would not be forgiving.

 

“Do not fret, Castiel, Dean will be repaired shortly. I cannot say the same for you.”

 

Cas lunged forward. Alastair side-stepped nearly and sliced his knife across Castiel’s arm as he stumbled.

 

“I see your technique hasn’t improved at all,” Alastair observed dryly.

 

Cas eyed the rip in his sleeve but shook off the sting of the blow and circled around, looking for another opening. He feinted to the left, ducked and struck for Alastair’s stomach. The demon leapt back. Cas swept a leg to knock Alastair off balance but he jumped nimbly over it and aimed a hard punch at Castiel’s face. Cas blocked it and retaliated with a slash across Alastair’s cheek.

 

Alastair swiped at the blood. “Cute.” He made a curt hand gesture. Cas frowned in confusion –

 

“Cas, look out!” Dean yelled.

 

Cas dropped and a hammer narrowly missed his head. It spun through the air into Alastair’s hand.

 

“Dean, Dean, Dean. You mustn’t do that.” A flick of his hand choked off Dean’s voice. “Now where were we? Ah yes, pest control.”

 

Alastair swung the hammer and knife simultaneously. Cas avoided both blows but was nearly caught from behind; a glass bottle glanced off his skull and shattered on the floor. Acid sprayed everywhere, hissing and burning where it landed. Dean flinched, cowering away.

 

All the other instruments of torture leapt off the table and jerked through the air towards Cas, forcing him into a series of evasive manoeuvres. The cat-o-nine-tails ripped across his back but the layers of his clothes protected him. Cas rolled and made another stab for Alastair but a swift deflection meant he barely scratched the demon’s hand.

 

“Well, you’re good for a work out I’ll give you that,” Alastair said. “But I’m bored of dancing now.”

 

This time it was Alastair who initiated the attack. He was fast and brutal. Weapons swirled around him in a furious storm that battered Cas from every angle. Alastair stabbed and sliced and cut, striking at every inch of Castiel’s exposed skin to inflict as much pain as possible. He was a cat playing with a mouse before moving in for the kill.

 

Cas was almost able to hold his own until his weapon was knocked from his hand. It skidded across the floor, out of his reach.

 

In a last ditch effort, Cas darted in close and slapped his palm against Alastair’s forehead. His eyes glowed blue-

 

-but nothing happened.

 

Alastair laughed. “You think something like that works on something like me?”  


There was no hope for retreat. Alastair grabbed him around the throat and ruthlessly began to squeeze. Cas scrabbled at the back of his hand but he couldn’t break the demon’s hold.

 

“I have never had the pleasure of having an angel on my rack before,” Alastair smiled. “I look forward to exploring your pain threshold and finding out just how loud an angel can scream.”

 

Cas made a choked sound, flailing helplessly. The glow of his Grace spluttered and extinguished, revealing terrified blue eyes.

 

“Change of plans, Dean-o,” Alastair said, snapping the fingers of his free hand to make the woman on the rack disappear. “You’re going to torture Castiel.”

 

Dean looked up at his angel. He tried to say ‘No’ but the word wouldn’t come.

 

“I would think twice before you defy me, Dean,” Alastair warned. “Castiel’s pathetic attempt at a rescue has failed. No one else coming for you. There are only two options for you now. You can do as I say and torture the angel, thus sparing yourself an eternity of torment. Or you can refuse. I will kill Castiel outright and you will take his place on the rack. Whaddya say?”

 

He waved a hand, releasing the obstruction to Dean’s voice, and waited expectantly.

 

Five years of torture flashed through Dean’s mind. The only thing worse than the thought of being ripped apart and pieced back together again every day for the rest of forever, was the thought of having to watch someone he cared about suffer the same. He couldn’t do it. Not to Cas. Not after the angel had come all this way to try to save him.

 

“Do what you want to me,” Dean croaked. “I won’t hurt Cas. Find someone else to do your dirty work.”

 

Alastair’s face darkened. “Fine. You can watch your lover-boy die slow, then.” He shifted his grip to Castiel’s hair, yanked his head back to bare his throat and laid the knife against his jugular.

 

In that moment, Dean realised that Cas was going to die.

 

He couldn’t let that happen.

 

With the arm that had barely begun to knit itself back together, Dean snatched up Castiel’s discarded weapon and lunged at Alastair.

 

“Dean, no!” Cas yelled.

 

Alastair spun.

 

Dean plunged the knife deep into his chest.

 

The demon grunted. His eyes widened in shock. Flashes of light jolted through his body.

 

Dean yanked the blade out and slammed it back in. Agony radiated up to his shoulder. Alastair gurgled on blood.

 

Dean thrust the knife straight up through his chin into his skill. Lightning flashed. The demon’s eyes rolled back into his head.

 

The body collapsed and Dean followed it down, stabbing it over and over and over again.

 

“I won’t – let you – hurt him!” Each word punctuated a blow. “Not – my – Cas – you _bastard!_ I hate you! I hate you! Why won’t you just – _die_ – you _son of a bitch!_ ”

 

“Dean. Dean! Stop! Dean you can stop, he’s dead.”

 

Castiel’s voice broke through the haze. Dean stopped and the world came crashing in around him.

 

He was covered in blood. The ground was covered in blood. The mutilated body beneath him was barely recognisable as the demon who had tortured him for five years. It looked like a wild animal had torn Alastair to shreds.

 

 _I did that,_ Dean realised. _I killed him._

 

The knife dropped numbly from his fingers.

 

ooOOoo


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter Twenty-One**

 

The first seal was broken.

 

Once again, Cas had failed to stop the Righteous Man from shedding blood in Hell. The end had begun.

 

But Dean had only done it to save him. He hadn’t broken in the same way the adult Dean had. He hadn’t started the torturing that would haunt him for the rest of his days and change him on a profound level. Cas hadn’t lost him.

 

It was clear that Dean wasn’t okay, but he would be.

 

At the moment, Dean’s wellbeing was all Cas cared about. They could deal with the oncoming storm later.

 

“Dean?” Cas asked gently.

 

Dean didn’t move, still staring in horror at the carnage he had wrought.

 

“It was nothing he did not deserve.” In fact, a part of Cas wished that the demon had not died so quickly. After everything he had done to Dean, in this lifetime and the last, Cas would have gladly seen the pain Alastair had inflicted revisited upon him tenfold. “Do not regret what you have done, Dean. He was a monster.”

 

“So am I,” Dean whispered.

 

“No.” Cas crouched in front of Dean, breaking his gaze from the bloodied corpse. “Look at me. He hurt you. He was going to kill me. You did what you had to.”

 

Dean blinked, almost as though he was seeing his angel for the first time. “Cas?”

 

Castiel’s eyebrows creased with concern. “Yes.”

 

“Are you… are you real?”

 

“Yes, Dean.”

 

Dean reached out to touch Castiel’s face with trembling fingers. He let out a small gasp when he made contact with skin and tears sprung to his eyes. “You’re here. You’re really here.”

 

“I am,” Cas assured him. “I have come to take you home.”

 

“I didn’t think you were coming.”

 

Only two weeks had passed in Heaven. It had been five _years_ in Hell. Dean should never have had to suffer for so long. “I am sorry. I came as quickly as I could. You know I would never abandon you, Dean.”

 

Dean’s hand dropped. The relief in his expression faded away to be replaced by hurt and mistrust. “But you did. Sammy was dead and you weren’t there to save him. What the hell happened to you, Cas? How could you do that to me? I’m here because of you. You left me to die.”

 

“Dean, it was not like that. I wanted to heal your brother. I would have, but Heaven stopped me.”

 

“So, what, they told you not to and you just obeyed them like a good little soldier?”

 

“They took me prisoner, Dean. They locked me away. They did not want to take any chances that I would go after you.”

 

“If they wanted me dead why didn’t they just kill me themselves?”

 

“Because… look, Dean, it doesn’t matter.”

 

Dean glared. “It matters to me. I want to know what I did to deserve this.”

 

“Nothing. Heaven has been corrupted, Dean. They have plans for Earth and they do not care what happens to good, innocent people along the way.”

 

“You’re saying that my being tortured for eternity was part of their plan?”

 

“No. They would have retrieved you eventually, they were just waiting for you to-”

 

“To what?”

 

Cas didn’t answer. He should not have let Dean pursue this line of questioning.

 

“You’re here now,” Dean said. “You came when I got off the rack. Is that what they were waiting for? They wanted me to give in to Alastair? Is they why they sent you when they did?”

 

“They did not send me. I escaped.”

 

“Why should I believe you?”

 

“Because it is the truth.”

 

“Only part of it. Tell me what is going on. I have a right to know.”

 

Cas had been trying to avoid telling Dean the hard truths for as long as he had known him. He justified it with the excuse that Dean was too young, or that the future might not unfold the same way this time around, or that he could somehow keep him safe from all of this. But he could not withhold the truth any longer. Dean was right; this was his life and his world and he deserved to know.

 

“Dean… the angels want Paradise on Earth. For that transformation to happen, the archangel Michael must defeat Lucifer in battle.”

 

“Lucifer, as in the Devil?”

 

“Yes. Long ago he was imprisoned in the depths of Hell. If he is freed the Apocalypse will begin. This is what the demons have been striving for, but until recently I was unaware that Heaven desired the same.”

 

“What does this have to do with me?”

 

“There are seals on Lucifer’s cage, like locks on a door. If 66 of them are broken, Lucifer will rise. They can break in any order, except for the first and the last.”

 

“Which are?”

 

“It is written that the first seal shall be broken when… when a Righteous Man sheds blood in Hell.”

 

“That makes no sense. What would a righteous man be doing in Hell?”

 

“Trading his life for his brother’s,” Cas said quietly.

 

Dean’s eyes widened. “Me? I’m not righteous!”

 

“No one is, entirely. But you have always tried to do what is right. You fought against evil. You laid down your life for your brother, and greater love hath no man.”

 

“But Cas, if that’s true, if I’m the guy that your prophecy talks about then… then the first seal is broken. I killed Alastair. I shed blood. I’m _covered_ in blood.”

 

“I know.”

 

“I jump-started the Apocalypse?”

 

“I’m sorry. I tried to stop it.”

 

“You tried to stop _me._ What’s going to happen, Cas? Are people going to die? Is the world gonna end because of me?”

 

“I don’t know.”

 

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

 

“This is as far as we got in the other timeline, Dean. I pulled you from Hell and the demons started breaking seals while Heaven made a façade of trying to stop them. I never saw how it ended. I know you and your brother were trying to stop it, but I don’t know if you would have. I don’t know if you could.”

 

“You’re telling me this now? All those years you spent knowing what would happen and you didn’t think once that it might be a good idea to warn me not to spill blood down here? If I had known the fate of the world literally hung in the balance I would have fought harder, Cas!”

 

“I hoped it would never come to this. I was going to protect you.”

 

“Well you didn’t!”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“It’s the end of the world, Cas! You need a bigger word than sorry!”

 

“Dean, it’s done now. But it is not over yet. Out there the world is still turning. We can still stop this.”

 

“How?”

 

“We’ll find a way.”

 

“Heaven and Hell are working _together_ on this. What chance do we stand? I’m just a kid and you’re just one angel. It’s a lost cause.”

 

“The Dean Winchester I know would not give up so easily.”

 

“Maybe I’m not that guy anymore.”

 

Cas looked him over carefully. He was worn and tired, battered and scarred, afraid and ashamed. But though his soul was shadowed by the pain he had experienced, it still shone more brightly than most. “I do not believe that. You are stronger than you give yourself credit for, Dean.”

 

“I got off the rack.”

 

“And you were ready to ensure the rack again in order to spare me. You’re a good man, Dean, and a good friend.”

 

“Doesn’t make me a hero.”

 

“That is debatable. But regardless, there is a human saying that states ‘Demons run when a good man goes to war’.”

 

“I’ve never heard that.”

 

Cas frowned. “Maybe humans haven’t started using it yet. But the meaning holds true.”

 

“Alastair didn’t seem very scared of me.”

 

Cas eyed the demon’s corpse. “That proved to be a fatal mistake.”

 

“You really think we can do this?”

 

Cas smiled a little. “I have faith in us.”

 

Dean sighed. “I guess we can only try our best and hope it will be enough.”

 

Dean had already been through so much but he was willing to go back out there and take the weight of the world on his shoulders. If that wasn’t the mark of a true hero Cas did not know what was.

 

“So you got an escape route planned or are we going to sit around chin-wagging all day?” Dean asked.

 

“I can fly us out of here,” Cas said. “But I will have to grip you tight and it may cause you some discomfort.”

 

“Dude, I just spent five years under Alastair’s knife. I can handle a little more pain if that’s what it takes to get out of here.” He held out his hand for Cas to take.

 

Last time, Cas had snatched Dean up without his knowledge, never giving him the chance to say no, moving so fast that Dean hadn’t even known who was responsible for his resurrection. Dean’s proffered hand was a sign of trust and a mark of their friendship. Cas took it gladly.

 

“Just don’t drop me, okay?” Dean said.

 

Cas squeezed his hand in reassurance. “I won’t.”

 

They heard the sound of approaching footsteps moving rapidly towards them. The demons were on the move; news of Castiel’s presence must have spread.

 

“We should go,” Cas said.

 

“Yeah, good idea.”

 

Cas spread his wings. “Hold on.”

 

A demon burst into the torture chamber.

 

“Go, go, go, go!” Dean yelled.

 

With a burst of effort Cas shot off from the ground. Dean cried out in pain but Cas gritted his teeth and kept going. He felt his Grace heat up as they passed through layers of fire and brimstone and ash and he knew that he had to be burning Dean’s hand but if anything Dean gripped harder than ever. He seemed heavier than the last time, which Cas took to mean his Grace was burning out. He prayed to a Father he had lost faith in that they would make it out of Hell intact.

 

Cas sharpened his concentration, searching through the veil for Dean’s body on Earth. He couldn’t find it which could only mean that Dean’s parents had salted and burned his body in keeping with hunter tradition. He shifted his focus to locating Bobby’s house in Sioux Falls and began rebuilding Dean’s body from scratch. He knew Dean well by now, having watching him grow from a small child to the young man he was today, and he placed every freckle with careful precision.

 

Fatigue was rapidly catching up to him.

 

They broke through the barrier between the worlds and Cas banked hard to slow their ascent. A flood of his Grace washed over them, transforming their spiritual beings back into their physical forms, and they materialised in Bobby’s kitchen.

 

Unfortunately, the reason why Dean had felt heavier than expected became apparent when they landed.

 

Sam spat out a mouthful of breakfast cereal at the sight of them, a grin lighting up his face. “Dean! Cas, I knew you’d- What is _that?!”_

 

Cas spun.

 

A demon had its claws embedded in Dean’s leg.

 

It must have hitched a ride with them out of Hell. By all rights it should have appeared as a cloud of black smoke but Castiel’s Grace must have transformed the demon too so that its appearance in Hell had translated across into this dimension.

 

It was huge mass of horns and fangs and claws and twisted flesh and gleaming white eyes. “Thanks for the lift,” it hissed.

 

Sam screamed and bolted from the room.

 

Cas drew on his Grace, ready to cast the demon straight back into the Pit, but in that instant the power boost he had received from Castiel abruptly spluttered and died.

 

“Dean, the knife!” Cas said but Dean looked up at him with pained eyes and shook his head – he had left it back in Hell.

 

The demon dragged Dean closer, yanking Cas along too because he refused to let go of Dean’s hand. It perched over Dean and hissed fetid breath over his face. “I should thank you, Dean. You have opened the first lock to my Father’s prison. You have freed me from the Pit. I will be able to break the remaining seals and because of you my Father will rise in glorious majesty. _At last._ ”

 

Dean’s grip on Castiel’s hand turned vice-like as he struggled to pull free but every movement ripped apart his leg even more. The demon dug its claws in deeper.

 

“But you have also murdered one of my kind,” it growled, “and for that you must pay.”

 

ooOOoo


	22. Chapter 22

Dean was going to die. Again. He had been alive for all of a minute and this demon was going to kill him. He was going back to Hell.

 

He should have known better than to get his hopes up that he could ever be free of that place. The universe did not want him to be saved.

 

Dean closed his eyes and turned his head away, unwilling to watch as his body was torn apart for the millionth time. Killing Alastair hadn’t changed anything. He had only made his situation worse. Now the demons had a vendetta against him, and since they didn’t need him to break any seals they could focus on pure payback. They were never going to let him stop screaming.

 

“Thanks for trying to save me, Cas,” Dean whispered, squeezing his angel’s hand lightly in a final goodbye. At least it was more than he’d had last time. And he got to see Sam again, even if it was only for a second.

 

Where had Sam gone, anyway?

 

“Hey!” a voice yelled from the doorway.

 

Three seconds later Dean was drenched by a massive bucket of water. After five years sweltering in the oppressive heat of Hell the impromptu shower was remarkably refreshing for Dean, but the demon screeched in pain. Dean chanced a look up and saw that, unlike the steam that rose from possessed humans when they were hit with holy water, the demon’s flesh was actually burning beneath the spray.

 

“Second wave!” Sam yelled. Dean caught a glimpse of his father holding a second bucket before he reflexively winced his eyes shut against the flood of water that was thrown over them.

 

The demon reeled back, shrieking, and its claws retracted from Dean’s skin. Dean felt his arm jolt in its socket as Cas hauled him out from under the demon. He used the momentum to scramble to his feet, though as soon as he was upright his damaged leg threatened to give out. Cas caught him and helped him hobble back out of the way.

 

“All clear, Mary!” Dad yelled.

 

Mom appeared in the doorway, but instead of the mother who sang gentle lullabies and made tomato rice soup for her children when they were sick, Dean was faced with a woman who looked ready and willing to kill. She raised her arm and Dean saw that she was holding a gun.

 

Cas pulled Dean against his chest and turned them away from the fight, curling protectively around him even as the loud report of a gun ricocheted off the walls.

 

There was the sound of crackling electricity, rolling thunder overhead, and then a solid thump.

 

Dean peeked out from the safety of his angel’s embrace and saw the demon lying dead on the floor, a bullet hole through its forehead.

 

“Nice aim, sweetheart,” Dad said.

 

Mom flipped her hair over her shoulder, a small proud smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah, I still got it.”

 

“We’re a whole family of superheroes!” Sam cried.

 

Dean huffed a laugh at his little brother’s enthusiasm and Cas stared at him.

 

“What?”

 

“I missed that sound,” Cas said simply.

 

Dean flushed and quickly diverted the topic. “So, uh, Mom, you just killed a demon with a revolver. Impressive.”

 

“And you just came back from the dead,” she said softly.

 

“Ah, yeah…”

 

Mom set the gun down on the table. She took one step towards him, then two. Cas retreated slightly to give them space and before Dean knew it he had been swept into his mother’s arms.

 

Warmth. Comfort. The familiar smell of her perfume. _Home._

 

Tears welled up in Dean’s eyes and he hugged his mom back with all the strength he could muster, holding on with no intention of ever letting go.

 

He felt his dad’s strong arms encircle them both and Sammy’s arms wrap around his middle. Dean was surrounded by his family and it felt like love.

 

He wasn’t even aware of the moment when he began to cry in earnest but once he started he couldn’t stop. He didn’t know why. He had thought he was keeping it together pretty well all things considered. But after he had spent so long hurting and alone, to be back here with his family… he finally felt safe enough to let go. The pain, the fear, the loneliness, the misery, it all came pouring out of him. It hurt. It felt like he was breaking to pieces, like his barriers were crumbling down, like he would never be okay again.

 

But he was with people who loved him. And he knew that when he had no more tears to give they would be there to put him back together.

 

It was a long time before Dean’s breathing settled and he felt strong enough to pull back a little. He was not the only one who had been crying; Sammy’s eyes were red, Mom had tear tracks on her face and even Dad’s eyes were wet.

 

“It’s good to have you back, son,” Dad said gruffly.

 

Mom cupped his cheek and brushed away his tears with her thumb. “I’m so glad you’re okay, baby. We missed you.”

 

He couldn’t help it; he hugged her again. He had been sure that his family was lost to him forever. “I missed you, too,” he choked out. After five years down in the Pit he had barely been able to remember their faces; all he’d been able to cling to was the ache of loss and the knowledge that somewhere out in the world there had to have been people who had loved him.

 

Coming back, he thought they would look different. Older.

 

Dean frowned and pulled away to look down at his little brother. He looked like he hadn’t aged a day. “I thought you’d be taller by now.”

 

“It’s been like two weeks dude, I haven’t had the chance to hit my growth spurt yet.”

 

Dean stared. “What? Two…?”

 

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Cas said. “Time passes differently down there.”

 

Dean couldn’t breathe. Two weeks. He had only been gone for two weeks. His family had hardly had any time to grieve. They didn’t know – they didn’t know…

 

“Why? How long has it been for you, Dean?” Mom asked. “Dean?”

 

“Uh, longer… I just… look, it doesn’t matter-” Dean’s leg chose that moment to crumple beneath him. He sank helplessly to the ground and doubled over his stomach, suddenly horribly nauseous.

 

“Dean-”

 

He retched, back arching, bile splattering the ground. Sam leapt out of the way but Mom slipped behind him to place a soothing hand against his forehead and rub circles into his back.

 

“Easy, sweetheart, take it easy…”

 

He hadn’t eaten anything in years – or weeks – or maybe ever in this new body because the last one he’d had was puppy chow – so he had nothing to bring up but that didn’t stop his stomach from trying to expel its lining and maybe the rest of his organs while he was at it.

 

“Baby, I’m so sorry,” Mom said. “I’m so sorry. But you’re here now. You’re home. You’re going to be okay.”

 

Dean nodded weakly but he didn’t have it within him to stand again.

 

“Cas, can’t you do something about his leg?” Dad asked. It was a mess of blood and torn skin, but to be honest Dean could barely feel it. He was used to far more extreme levels of pain.

 

“It was all I could do to get him here,” the angel confessed. “I am afraid my Grace will not be much use for anything anymore.”

 

“Your Grace?”

 

“My power. It has all but burned out.”

 

“Sorry,” Dean rasped.

 

“I would do it again in a wing beat,” Cas told him. “You are worth any sacrifice, Dean Winchester.”

 

Dad tilted his head, looking at the angel curiously. “I was wrong about you. Thank you for saving my son.”

 

Cas inclined his head. He wasn’t expecting Sam to run up and hug him; he stood stiffly as the youngest Winchester tried to squeeze the stuffing out of him and looked to Dean as though asking what he was supposed to do.

 

‘Pat him on the back’, Dean mouthed. Cas did so, awkwardly, and Sam beamed up at him. “I knew you’d answer my prayers.”

 

Dean’s eyebrows rose. As far as he knew his family had never been very religious. “You prayed for me?”

 

“Yeah. I knew Cas would save you. He’s like the best angel ever!”

 

“I do not know if I even qualify as an angel anymore.”

 

“Well you watch over my son, and that is good enough for me,” Mary said warmly. “We really should do something about that leg, though. Does anyone know where Bobby keeps his first-aid kit?”

 

“Under the sink,” Dean said. Sam scrambled to retrieve it. “Where is Bobby, by the way?”

 

“Supply run,” Dad answered. “He’s gonna get the shock of his life when he comes back here to see his kitchen in this state.”

 

“Bobby Singer is well-accustomed to the sight of monsters,” Cas pointed out.

 

“Yeah, but I bet a person coming back to life doesn’t happen every day.”

 

“Well, this is our second resurrection in the family within a month,” Mom said. “And you’ve died once, John, and I suppose technically I have as well… We are a very strange family.”

 

“Ya think?” Dean quipped, a tired smirk curving his lips.

 

“Hush child,” Mom said, but for all her talk about wanting a normal life she was failing to hide a smile of her own. “You’ve got the kit, Sammy? Okay, good. I’ll also need some warm water and clean towels…”

 

Dean let himself slip into a state of semi-awareness as his Mom went to work cleaning and dressing his wound. He was used to his body being pieced back together in instants but he didn’t mind having to heal the slow way. It meant he was alive and human again.

 

In the meantime, Dad set about removing the demon’s corpse from the kitchen.

 

“Who or what was that thing, anyway?” Dad asked, washing his hands thoroughly in the kitchen sink after having salted and burned the creature in a shallow grave out back.

 

“A demon manifested in corporeal form,” Cas said.

 

“I don’t suppose it was Azazel?” Dad asked hopefully.

 

“No.”

 

Dad sighed. “Pity. But then that would have been too easy, wouldn’t it?”

 

“Based on what the demon said before your timely intervention, I suspect it was Lilith. She posed an equal, or perhaps even greater threat than the yellow-eyed demon. Killing her was a significant victory.”

 

“Well that’s something, then. And it is good to know that the Colt definitely works. We were looking for a test subject, so it was very convenient of you to bring one back with you. But please tell me that is the worst to come of this.”

 

Dean hung his head in shame. “Actually, Dad… I might have started the Apocalypse.”

 

He could feel the weight of his family’s gazes.

 

“Apocalypse as in…?”

 

“The end of the world. Pretty sure, yeah.”

 

“Um, okay – what? How?”

 

“It is a long story,” Cas said. “And not one that needs to be told right now. By killing Lilith we have bought ourselves some time. I doubt our enemies will be willing to let their plans be disrupted so easily, but it may take a while for them to come up with a contingency. We should let Dean rest.”

 

“I’m fine,” Dean tried to say, but Dad had already scooped him up.

 

“Come on, son, bed time.”

 

Dean couldn’t remember the last time his Dad had carried him to bed. The teenager in him should have been mortified, but the reality was that his leg was not up to much walking and the child who had grown up too fast was absurdly grateful to be in the safety of his father’s arms.

 

He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

 

ooOOoo

 

Bobby slowly pushed the bedroom door open.

 

He had come home from the grocery store to be greeted with the funky smell of a crisped demon, rushed inside to check that everyone was okay and found the three Winchesters sitting casually around his kitchen table. For the past two weeks the atmosphere of grief in his house had been almost tangible and it was noticeably missing when he walked in. As soon as Sam had seen him he had run over with a squeal of “Dean’s back!” and Bobby wouldn’t have believed it if the kid’s parents hadn’t backed up his story.

 

Even after they had told him everything that had happened, it still felt too good to be true.

 

Bobby was no stranger to loss. When his wife died a part of him kept expecting her to walk through the door and tell him that it had all just been a bad dream. Eventually he had been forced to come to terms with the fact that people couldn’t come back from the dead – unless it was as a monster.

 

Dean’s death had been a cruel reminder of that fact.

 

Everything within him had wanted to find a way to save the kid who had become like a son to him. Bobby had hardly slept since he was told the news; he stayed awake late into the night every night to do research, hoping against hope that he could find a way to break Dean out of Hell. But there was no way.

 

He drank when no one was around to see him, trying to numb himself to the reality of a world where innocent children could be butchered by monsters, trying to resign himself to the knowledge that Dean was gone forever.

 

So it was difficult to accept that Dean could really be home safe. Bobby had to see it with his own eyes.

 

The bedroom door swung open. Light filtering in from the hallway gently illuminated the mound of covers on the bed that was snoring softly.

 

Bobby moved closer until he could see the tuft of light brown hair and the smattering of freckles across his nose.

 

It was Dean. It was really him.

 

Bobby exhaled long and slow. He had never been more relieved to see someone in his entire life.

 

He sat on the edge of the mattress, giving himself a moment to soak in the sight of Dean alive and breathing and at peace. He absently smoothed the creases of the blanket and silently thanked God – actually, not God, _Cas_ – for Dean’s safe return.

 

“You are welcome,” a deep voice intoned.

 

Bobby nearly leapt out of his skin. He had been so focused on Dean that he hadn’t noticed the angel standing in the corner. “Cas. What are you doing here?”

 

“Watching over him,” the angel answered simply. “I have no intention of ever again leaving his side.”

 

Bobby didn’t have to ask why Cas had ever left in the first place, because he knew the angel would not have gone willingly. He cared about Dean far too much for that. Besides, he had been the one to save Dean when no one else could and Bobby was damn grateful.

 

“How’s he doing?” Bobby asked instead.

 

“For now, he rests peacefully. Our connection is such that, even with my faded Grace, I am able to watch over his dreams and keep the nightmares at bay. He is not ‘okay’ by any human definition, but given time I believe he will recover from this ordeal.”

 

“He’s a strong kid.”

 

“Yes he is.”

 

Bobby gently ruffled Dean’s hair and he shifted, bleary eyes blinking open.

 

“Sorry, kid, I didn’t mean to wake you,” Bobby whispered.

 

“Bobby?”

 

“Yeah, kid.”

 

Dean sat up and threw his arms around him.

 

Bobby hugged him back just as tightly. “Welcome home, Dean.”

 

ooOOoo


	23. Chapter 23

 

It was with great trepidation that Azazel entered the convent. He was not superstitious so he had no fear of walking on consecrated ground, but he had returned to this particular convent out of necessity and he feared the consequences that awaited him.

 

His father was going to be furious.

 

A kid and an angel had laid waste to years of careful planning. Azazel had been working hard to complete the orders his father had given him and despite a few bumps along the road it had all been coming together quite nicely. Then the angel had turned up at exactly the wrong moment and Lilith had made a rash decision and now the entire scheme had fallen apart.

 

Azazel still believed in the mission. But with Lilith gone he did not know if there was anything he could do to free his father from the Cage. He hoped that his father had a Plan B, but he was terrified of explaining why one was necessary.

 

Needs must.

 

Azazel turned to face the assortment of possessed nuns he had brought with him to Saint Mary’s Convent. The place had been abandoned since his little massacre in 1972 so he had been forced to supply his own bag of nuns this time. He was disgusted to see that the demons were quaking in their habits; they were weak, lesser creatures who still believed God might smite them for trespassing in one of His churches. Azazel rolled his eyes, flicked a hand to dead-bolt the door and told the demons to smoke out. They did not deserve to stand in Lucifer’s presence anyway.

 

The nuns were confused at first, then scared, then screaming and then dead. Once he was finished with the slaughter Azazel discarded the bloodied sword and seized a dead nun by her ankle. He dragged her over to the altar and tossed her on top.

 

Azazel knelt down before the altar and folded his hands together. He swallowed nervously, knowing that he would probably be better off fleeing for his life than delivering this piece of news to his father, but loyalty won out over fear.

 

“Father? Can you hear me?”

 

Wind rustled through the convent, casting strange shadows over the walls as the candle flames flickered.

 

The dead nun gasped and twitched.

 

Azazel clutched his hands together tighter, trying to crush the shaking that betrayed his terror.

 

 _“Yes, my son,”_ the nun rasped. _“Why have you contacted me in this manner? I had thought the next time we spoke would be in person when I walked free.”_

 

“Ah, yes. About that…”

 

_“Long have I waited. My patience grows thin.”_

“I am sorry, Father. I have endeavoured to do as you asked, but I have encountered a problem.”

 

_“What problem?”_

Azazel swallowed again but his throat was dry. “Lilith is dead.”

 

_“WHAT?!”_

 

The candle flames shot up to the ceiling.

 

Azazel cowered, head bowed to the ground, hands splayed in supplication. “Father, forgive me. I planned to free her by opening the Devil’s Gate in Southern Wyoming, but she took matters into her own hands. An angel turned up to free one of our high-profile prisoners, breaking through some of the deepest barriers in the Pit to do so, and Lilith hitched a ride.”

 

_“She did what you could not.”_

 

“Yes, Father, but immediately upon her arrival on Earth she was killed by some hunters. Everything happened so fast, I couldn’t-”

 

_“No mere hunter could kill my first child.”_

 

“They used a gun. A special gun, the one I had been searching for, the key to the Gate. It can kill almost anything. Lilith had no defence against it.”

 

_“So my beloved is dead.”_

 

“I am sorry, Father.”

 

_“Her murderers have suffered for their crime?”_

 

“Well, no…” The flames flared dangerously and Azazel hastened to add, “They include one of your potential vessels, Father, I did not want to risk bringing him harm.”

 

_“I have only one true vessel.”_

 

“Oh.” Azazel had set up dozens of demon-blood children for his Father to choose from when the time came. If he had known to go after one child in particular his job would have been far easier. “Do you have a name?”

 

_“Now that he has been born I can sense him. Born into the bloodline of Cain and Abel, conceived by the union of Campbell hunters and Winchester Men of Letters, and christened by demon blood at six months of age, he is the chosen one.”_

 

“Sam Winchester?”

 

_“Yes.”_

 

“Great, good to know. I will have him ready for you. But Father, with Lilith dead, I do not know of a way to liberate you. She was supposed to break the seals. She was the final seal.”

_“There is another way. My brothers believe that this knowledge has been hidden from me, but I know of a key that can open the Cage.”_

 

“That sounds easier.”

 

_“It is not. The key is comprised of the four rings of the Horsemen.”_

 

“War, Famine, Pestilence and Death? Father… they are big players. I do not know if I could command them.”

 

_“You could not. Only I possess such power. It has been foretold that my deliverance will awaken them and they will march across the Earth, leaving devastation in their wake.”_

 

“But if we need their rings to get you out of the Cage, and you need to be out of the Cage to get their rings, then we have a problem.”

 

_“That is why you were told to free Lilith.”_

 

“Right. Again, I am sorry. But Father, all I want is for you to be free and to reign in your rightful place. If there is anything I can do to fix this I will do it.”

 

_“If this connection is held open by regular sacrifices it may be possible for me to project my power into another.”_

 

“Father, it would be an honour…”

 

_“Not you. You could not hope to contain my power, and you are far from worthy. It has to be my vessel.”_

“The boy?”

 

_“Retrieve him. Prepare him. Secure his permission for my power to enter his body, and then bring him here to me. Only then will I consider forgiving your failure.”_

 

“Yes, Father. It will be done.”

 

_“Do not disappoint me. I have waited almost 3000 years since you made your last promise to raise me from the Pit. If I am kept waiting again you will suffer the consequences.”_

 

“Yes, Father.”

 

The candles spluttered and died. The body of the nun collapsed, lifeless.

 

Azazel stood to his feet. He had work to do.

 

ooOOoo

 

Sam was dreaming about unicorns shooting rainbows out of their butts, empty suits of armour chasing him down a road and some random guy holding a plate of cheese when his dream abruptly changed.

 

He was sitting on the couch in Bobby’s lounge room and a man was standing in front of him, blocking his view of the TV.

 

“Hello, Sam. Sure has been a while.”

 

“Who are you?”

 

The man’s eyes flashed yellow.

 

Sam scrambled off the couch and bolted for the door, a cry for his parents already on his lips.

 

The door slammed shut of its own accord.

 

“Don’t be silly, Sam. No one will hear you. You are still fast asleep.”

 

“So this is just a nightmare?”

 

“No, but it is the only way I can talk to you in private.”

 

Keeping a wary eye on the monster, Sam edged around the room until the couch was a barrier between them. “You’re Azazel. The yellow-eyed demon my brother warned us about.”

 

“That’s me.”

 

“Get out of my head.”

 

“Now, now, Sam, is that any way to speak to the man who saved your life?”

 

“Dean saved me. You used me to hurt my brother.”

 

“Oh, don’t hold a grudge. Dean’s fine, isn’t he?”

 

No, Dean was a long way from fine. His leg was messed up, he flinched at loud noises, he kept zoning out, he wouldn’t sleep unless Cas was in the room with him, his emotions were all over the place and sometimes he had panic attacks so severe that not even Cas could calm him down.

 

The demon coughed. “Well it could be worse. He could still be down in the Pit.”

 

“You can’t claim credit for his resurrection. That was all Cas.”

 

“Oh, I know. But it is only by my mercy that Dean has been allowed to live. You see, your brother sold his soul to me. He belongs to me now. Technically, the angel stole my property and I could take Dean back if I wanted to. It would be well within my right. It is all in the contract.”

 

“You could try but we’d stop you.”

 

“My hellhound already has Dean’s scent. I set it loose and it won’t give up until Dean is back down in the Pit screaming his lungs out. It will kill anything that gets in its way. And if by chance you manage to kill it first, there are hundreds more where it came from. I’d like to see your little family up against a pack. I am sure it would be a glorious blood bath.”

 

“If you are so sure of yourself then why haven’t you tried to take Dean back already?”

 

“I don’t really need him anymore is the thing. He’s a fun toy to play with, but I _might_ be willing to let him go…”

 

Sam narrowed his eyes. “What do you want?”

 

“You’re smart, kid. I like that. Here’s the deal. I need to borrow you for a little while. Don’t worry, you won’t be hurt – in fact, you will probably feel better than you ever have. All you have to do is collect four rings from some friends of my boss. It shouldn’t be difficult; he’ll give you all the help you need.”

 

“Who is your boss? And what friends? What happens if you get these rings?”

 

“You don’t need to worry about that. All you need to worry about is your brother. If you do what I ask I promise that your family will be safe from demons forever. If you refuse, Dean goes back on the rack and I will put a bounty on your parents so high that every monster on the planet will be after their heads.”

 

“I’m not agreeing to anything without knowing the full terms of the deal.”

 

“That’s fine. I hope you enjoy watching your brother get torn to shreds for the second time. I’ll make sure you have a front row seat. I gotta say though, Dean endured five years of Hell torture for you and this is a poor repayment.”

 

Sam froze. “Five… five _years?_ ”

 

“What, he didn’t tell you? Three days up here is about a year in Hell, Sam.”

 

Five years. Oh _god._ No wonder Dean was a mess. It was a miracle that he was able to function at all.

 

“Not that you care, though. You’re more than willing to send him back downstairs, and all because you’re too squeamish to run a few errands for me. I guess the selfless trait doesn’t run in the family, huh?”

 

Sam thought about the haunted look in Dean’s eyes. He thought about the vulnerability in his posture. He thought about the fear that made Dean’s hands tremble when he was trying to do something as simple as tie his shoelaces. He thought about how quiet Dean was now and how rare it was to see him smile. He thought about the way Dean had screamed when the hellhound was ripping him apart, and he realised he couldn’t bear to put his brother through that again. Not when he had the power to stop it. “Wait.”

 

The demon smiled. “Yes, Sam?”

 

“I’ll go with you. Just leave my family alone.”

 

“That’s my boy. The place you are staying is warded so I need you to sneak out. There is an abandoned house half a mile down the road. I will meet you there. I don’t think I have to tell you that if you don’t turn up I play fetch with my hellhound.”

 

“I’ll be there.”

 

“Good. Wakey wakey, then, Sam.”

 

Sam woke and sat bolt upright. He had fallen asleep on Bobby’s couch. Cartoons were playing quietly on the TV. It was early morning and from the sound of things everyone was still asleep.

 

The demon was expecting him. Sam knew he had to hurry.

 

ooOOoo


	24. Chapter 24

 

Sam drew in a deep, steadying breath and twisted the doorknob. The door creaked ominously as he pushed it open, sending chills down his spine. It took all the courage he had to step across the threshold into the abandoned house, and not just because his brother had told him very sternly when he was little that he was never under any circumstances to go into old empty buildings like this, not even as a dare or to impress a girl. Dean hadn’t said it in so many words, but Sam had understood that any manner of nasty things could be hiding inside. Unfortunately, he knew for a fact that a monster was waiting for him in this house and he had to go in anyway.

 

He didn’t close the door behind him. Directly in front of the entryway was a staircase, but Sam turned left and entered the lounge room.

 

The man from his dream stood in front of the large boarded up windows, gazing contemplatively at them as though he could see the sunrise beyond. Sam figured it was far more likely that the demon was plotting the end of the world and it made his skin crawl to even be in the same room as him.

 

But he was doing this for his family.

 

“Alright, I’m here,” Sam announced.

 

The demon turned and a grin spread across his face. “Sam. It is so good to see you in person after all these years. I remember when you were just a small babe, and now look at you.”

 

Sam shivered at the reminder that this creature had been in his nursery. “What did you do to me that night?”

 

“I didn’t hurt you, Sammy. I would never hurt you. What I did was to help you grow big and strong.”

 

“Why?”

 

The demon stepped closer and Sam fought the urge to retreat. “Because you’re special, Sammy. All the other humans out there are so weak, so _ordinary._ But you, _you_ have an incredible destiny. You are meant for great things. You, Sam, are going to change the world.”

 

“You mean destroy it.”

 

“No, Sam. This planet is beautiful. My father has no desire to see it destroyed. He wants to make it better. He wants to fix it.”

 

“How?”

 

Azazel spread his arms. “Look at this house. It is in a terrible state of disrepair. The original owners left, allowing this house to fall into ruin. It would take a great deal of work to restore it to its former glory. A few of these walls would need to be torn down and some of the floorboards would have to be ripped up to make way for higher quality replacements. When it was finished, it would not be the same house it once was, but it would be beautiful and filled with renewed purpose. That is my father’s plan; not to hurt, but to heal. He cares, Sammy, far more than the God who left your planet to become such a mess in the first place.”

 

“You’re talking about the Devil.”

 

“His name is Lucifer, Sam, and he was once the most beautiful of God’s angels until he was cast out.”

 

“He must have been cast out for a reason.”

 

“What about Castiel, your brother’s pet angel? He turned against Heaven. He has Fallen just as Lucifer did. You do not consider him evil, do you?”

 

“No…”

 

“So why not give Lucifer the benefit of the doubt? He is not the monster you imagine him to be.”

 

“You still haven’t told me what it is you want me to do.”

 

“Lucifer has been unjustly imprisoned. There was no trial, no chance for an appeal, no parole, no early release for good behaviour. Lucifer gave knowledge and free will to the human race and his punishment was to be locked up in Hell for thousands upon thousands of years. Is that fair, Sam? Does that sound like justice to you?”

 

“You want to let him out.”

 

“He deserves freedom, Sam.”

 

“I thought breaking seals was going to free him anyway.”

 

Azazel’s face twisted before he painted a smile back on. “Yes, well, the best laid plans of mice and demons, you know how it is. We had to go to plan B, and you’re it kiddo. You collect the rings to open the door and Lucifer walks free. You will be rewarded and your family will live in luxury for the rest of their lives. It’s a good deal, Sam.”

 

Sam steeled himself. “What do I have to do?”

 

“I’m going to take you to a convent in Maryland where you can talk to my Father. He is going to ask you a question and all you have to do is say yes. We will take care of the rest.”

 

“And if I go with you, Dean will be safe. You promise.”

 

“We won’t harm a single hair on his head, you have my word. In fact, if it makes you feel better I will have the dog that bit him put down.”

 

Sam glanced back at the open doorway. When he turned to face the demon, his chin was set with determination. “Okay, then.”

 

Azazel clapped his hands together. “Great! Let’s go.”

 

There was an expectant pause.

 

The demon frowned and snapped his fingers.

 

“Is…something meant to happen?” Sam asked.

 

He snapped harder, frustration and confusion warring across his features. “We should be in Maryland right now.”

 

Sam looked around the room. “Fairy sure we haven’t gone anywhere.”

 

“Something is blocking my ability to teleport.”

 

“Really? Huh, that’s weird.”

 

Azazel glared. “You! What did you do?”

 

“Nothing,” Sam replied innocently. “I’ve been in here talking to you this whole time, how could I do anything?”

 

Azazel snarled and lurched forward, trying to grab him. Sam stepped backward neatly and Azazel jerked to a stop, almost as though he had hit an invisible barrier.

 

“Of course,” Sam continued cheerfully, “I created a pretty neat distraction while my mom snuck upstairs to paint a Devil’s Trap directly over your head and Dad and Bobby ran salt lines along every window and door.”

 

There was a lot of enjoyment to be had from watching the horror grow on the demon’s face as Mom walked smugly down the stairs, paint brush in hand, and Bobby and Dad stepped carefully over the salt line at the front door.

 

“Did you really think I was stupid enough to trust you?” Sam asked. “You’re a friggin’ _demon._ And not just any demon, but the one that has been stalking my family my whole life. After what you did to my brother there was no way I was ever going to make a deal with you. As soon as I woke up I told my family what had happened and we hatched this little plan. You’re trapped now.”

 

The adults formed a perimeter around Azazel and pulled flasks of holy water out of their pockets to hold at the ready.

 

“Those won’t work on me,” Azazel said, trying to sound cocky.

 

“No,” Dean agreed. Leaning on Cas for support, he limped into the lounge room to face the demon that had sent him to Hell. He smiled grimly, and raised the Colt to point it directly at Azazel’s heart. “But this will.”

 

Dean had been shaky ever since he got back, but now his arm was as steady as a rock. He wasn’t scared and he wasn’t angry. He was deadly calm.

 

“This is for my family,” he said. “You son of a bitch.”

 

There was no fanfare, no long dramatic speech, no gloating.

 

Dean pulled the trigger. His aim was true.

 

Azazel’s eyes blew wide with shock as the bullet slammed into his chest. He staggered back. Lightning jolted through his body, illuminating his skeleton in bright flashes as his twisted soul was purged from the flesh he had stolen. His eyes glowed yellow a final time before the taint was shredded and all that was left was the cold emptiness of death.

 

The body thudded to the floor.

 

There was a long silence. This was the monster who had killed Mom’s parents, the monster who had killed and resurrected Dad, the monster who would have killed Mom if the other Dean had not gone back in time to warn her, the monster who had poisoned Sam, the monster who had tried to kill Dean, the monster who had dragged Dean to Hell, the monster who would have freed the Devil and brought on Armageddon.

 

Azazel was dead. He was never going to be able to hurt anyone else ever again.

 

“Good riddance,” Sam said.

 

Dean let the Colt drop to his side. “I keep my promises.” The adrenaline flooded out of him and he sagged against his angel, looking more exhausted than he had when Sam woke him. “Is it over? Can I sleep now?”

 

“It’s over, Dean,” Cas assured him. “With Azazel, Lilith and Alastair all dead, there is no demon left in Hell with the means to raise Lucifer. Besides, without its leaders Hell will be in chaos. The demons will be far too busy fighting among themselves to bother with Earth. You have ended it, Dean.”

 

“Good,” Dean sighed. “Now maybe we can have some peace and quiet.”

 

ooOOoo

 

Zachariah stormed through Heaven, all six of his wings flapping with agitation, scattering cupids and lesser seraphs in his wake. Humans were infuriating. Why couldn’t they ever do what they were told?

 

“Michael!” he called.

 

The archangel descended, a displeased expression on his faces. “I trust there is a reason you have entered my presence in such a disrespectful manner.”

 

Zachariah bowed low, though his wings twitched with annoyance. “My apologies.”

 

“What is it, Zachariah?”

 

“The demons have failed,” he reported. “Just goes to show that if you want a job done right you have to do it yourself.”

 

“What has happened?”

 

“The Winchesters,” Zachariah growled. “Those overgrown apes are more trouble than they are worth. Instead of rolling over and accepting the roles that destiny has given them they keep fighting against the natural order and ruining everything! Do you know what they did this time? They killed Azazel. He was the only demon left with the knowledge of how to free Lucifer and secure his vessel, but he couldn’t even stand up against one little family of hunters. Honestly, he had _one_ job. When did the forces of darkness become so inept?”

 

“What of Lilith?”

 

“She’s dead too. The Winchesters killed her. They’ve taken out all the highest ranking demons in Hell. I’m telling you, Michael, Apocalypse Now has gone off the rails.”

 

“That is unacceptable. My brother and I must battle to the death. So it has been written and so it shall come to pass.”

 

“Yeah, well, not at the rate things are going. We have no more convenient pawns to use. Lucifer is going to be trapped in that cage indefinitely. So much for Paradise.”

 

“Destiny cannot be so easily averted.”

 

“Tell that to the mutated fish who created this mess,” Zachariah muttered. “Look, Michael, I’m not seeing another choice here. The only way this apocalypse is going to happen now is if _you_ break Lucifer out of the Cage. You threw him in and now you are the only one with enough juice to pull him out.”

 

“Such blatant action would incite rebellion in Heaven. We have already had to execute one rebel.”

 

“A few angels here and there might kick up a fuss, sure. But once we have Paradise on Earth, no one is going to care how we got there.”

 

“I do not know that this is something I can do. Freeing Lucifer would reflect poorly upon me.”

 

“Our Father left strict orders. Are you willing to disobey and incur his wrath?”

 

Michael was silent for a long moment and Zachariah knew he had him convinced. Michael had always been and would forever be the perfect son.

 

“I would need my sword,” Michael said at last.

 

“Is it in the armoury? I can get it for you-”

 

“No. It is not a weapon. It is a person.”

 

“More humans? Michael…”

 

“It was with my sword that I first cast Lucifer into the Pit, and it is only with my sword that I can raise him.”

 

“Fine. Who is it?”

 

“My vessel. Dean Winchester.”

 

“Great,” Zachariah muttered. The only upside to this was that by the time the Apocalypse was over both Dean Winchester and his brother Sam would be burned out husks, completely catatonic and too busy drooling on their clothes to cause any more trouble.

 

“He will need to say yes to me,” Michael pointed out. “After all Castiel has told him of Heaven, I am afraid he will be reluctant to submit.”

 

Zachariah waved a dismissive hand. “Nah. Alastair as good as broke him in Hell. It won’t take much to push him over the edge. I think he will find that we can be very… persuasive.”

 

“Then let it be done,” Michael said.

 

Zachariah bowed. “Yes, Michael. It will be my pleasure.”

 

ooOOoo

 


	25. Chapter 25

 

With Azazel dead, everything was supposed to be back to normal. The trouble was that Dean didn’t know what normal was anymore.

 

The threat of the yellow-eyed demon had been hanging over his head since he was four years old. It was hard to believe it was over now; that he was finally safe and so was Sam. According to Bobby’s hunter contacts there had been no demon sightings on Earth since Azazel was killed. Dean had worried that some would be after revenge, but it seemed they were all too busy fighting each other. For the time being at least, demons weren’t a threat.

 

Even so, Dean couldn’t relax. He still felt like something was going to jump out at him from the shadows at any moment, ripping and slashing and clawing and dragging him away.

 

He had died every day for five years. Logic told him he was home and nothing would hurt him here, but from the moment he woke up he was constantly on edge, waiting to be tortured to death again, and it wasn’t until the sun set that he dared to breathe a little easier. The respite felt like an illusion, though. Dean feared that when it shattered he would find himself back on the rack with Alastair standing over him asking if he had truly been naïve enough to believe that he was free.

 

_“This is all there is. Torture and death, over and over, for all of eternity.”_

 

Dean could still hear him. The demon’s laughter echoed in his head.

 

Dean tried to block it out but the more he tried to convince himself that he really had been rescued the less believable it seemed. This reality was too good to be true. Cas was a constant presence at his side, but Dean clearly remembered the angel abandoning him. Dad was warm and accepting, but Dean knew that his father had kicked him out of home. Mom was talking openly about hunting, but that was something Dean was sure the ex-hunter would never do. Sam was here, but Dean had gone to Hell knowing that he would never see his little brother again.

 

This was just a new form of torture; it had to be. Pretty soon the other shoe would drop and the torture would feel one hundred times worse because he’d had this little taste of what it was like to be free.

 

It was going to destroy him.

 

Dean started to distance himself from everyone, building walls around his heart in the hopes that he could keep it from breaking. He stayed in his room as much as possible and barely said two words at the meal table. He flinched away from his mother’s hugs and refused to watch movies with his brother. He wouldn’t go into town with Bobby on supply runs or join his father tinkering with the cars out back. He kept to himself and they eventually worked out that he wanted to be left alone.

 

Cas was the only one who didn’t get the hint.

 

He didn’t try to force Dean into conversation or make suggestions about activities he could do to keep himself busy while his leg healed. But he didn’t leave him alone either. He was just… there. Always. He didn’t get upset when Dean ignored him or when Dean rejected his offers to help. He let Dean stubbornly navigate the stairs on his own but caught him when he nearly tripped. He was a silent sentinel at Dean’s bedside; Dean threw him out of his room one night, but when he woke up screaming from a nightmare Cas was there in a heartbeat to sooth him back to sleep. Cas opened the curtains in the mornings to let the sunshine coax him out of bed, ran baths for him and learned how to re-dress his wounds. He counted every mouthful of food Dean had to ensure he was eating enough. He even lured Dean outside to get some fresh air and exercise some strength back into his tender muscles.

 

Cas was gentle and he was patient and Dean hated it because it made him feel safe.

 

When he could not take it any longer, Dean forcefully shoved Cas away.

 

“Leave me alone!” Dean yelled. “Don’t you understand? I don’t want you here! I don’t need your help! Get the hell away from me!”

 

The calm countenance of the angel didn’t falter. Cas just looked at him with unwavering compassion. “Scream if it makes you feel better,” he said quietly. “But I am not leaving you.”

 

“You’re not even _here_! You’re a trick, a mirage! None of this is real! It is just another way for Alastair to torment me. You left me and I am rotting in Hell and I will never be free, not _ever._ As soon as I let my guard down Alastair will take all of this away from me and he will never let me stop screaming. But he can’t trick me. I know this isn’t real. You’re not here, you were never here. I wanted you to save me so badly, I prayed to you every chance that I had and for five years I deluded myself into thinking that you would come for me. But all of this is a lie. It just is. I’m not stupid. Do you hear me, Alastair? I’m not playing your game anymore! This is all you got? Why don’t you inflict some _real_ damage? I’m not afraid of you. Hurt me all you want, but this sick mind-warp thing ain’t gonna work on me so you might as well give it up. Come on! Do your worst!”

 

Dean expected this make-believe reality to implode and for the heat and screams and stink of sulphur to crush in from all sides.

 

But there was only Cas and those eyes that could stare right into his soul.

 

“Alastair is dead, Dean. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

 

“You’re lying.”

 

“You killed him yourself.”

 

“I couldn’t. He’s too strong.”

 

“You are stronger. You defeated him, Dean. In the end, you were the one to save me. If this had all been in your imagination, don’t you think I would have been able to strike Alastair down easily and we would have made a clean escape? We did it the hard way, Dean. I lost my Grace and you were badly hurt. You are _still_ hurt. That ache in your leg is not imaginary Dean. It is your body healing the slow and hard way. But you _are_ getting better. And believe me when I say that you will be okay. It will take time, but you will recover from this. I promise.”

 

Still uncertain, Dean reached down to his wounded leg. He dug his fingers into the white gauze and was rewarded with a sharp, stabbing pain.

 

“This is real,” Cas said. He took Dean’s hand, covering it with both of his own so he couldn’t tear his injuries open again in an effort to feel something. “I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

 

Risking everything, Dean took a deep breath and exhaled, letting all of the fear and doubts drain away. “This is real,” he echoed.

 

The world didn’t end.

 

Cas just squeezed his hand in gentle reassurance, and Dean believed him. Everything was going to be okay.

 

ooOOoo

 

“We need to talk about what we’re going to do now,” Mom said as she served up dinner. “Bobby’s hospitality has been very generous, but I think we have outstayed our welcome.”

 

“It is no trouble,” Bobby said, holding up his plate to accept a slice of meat pie. “To be honest it has been nice to have some company around here.”

 

Mom distributed the vegetables, giving Dean a stern look when he wrinkled his nose at them, but when he reluctantly put a piece of carrot in his mouth she gave him a few extra potatoes and slathered gravy on top. “Even so, we can’t stay here forever. We have a home and a life back in Lawrence. Sam and Dean have already missed a month of school and I’m sure there is a line of customers waiting for John to get back to the workshop.”

 

“School?” Dean asked. It might have been five years ago, but he still remembered that his last week of school had involved getting homophobic slurs yelled at him and dumb jocks attempting to beat the crap out of him. “I’m not going back there. I dropped out.”

 

“Not officially. As far as the school is concerned you are on extended sick leave because you contracted glandular fever.”

 

“So no one back in Lawrence knows I died?” It was depressing to realise that no one at school would have missed him anyway.

 

“No, so they should take you back no questions asked.”

 

Dean prodded moodily at his pie. “Great.”

 

“Mom… I don’t think school was really Dean’s thing,” Sam spoke up. “I mean, I love maths and science and history and all that stuff, but Dean has always been more of a hands-on guy.”

 

“He needs to finish his education.”

 

“But he chose hunting. Just because you and Dad realised what a big mistake you made when you kicked him out, doesn’t mean he has to go with you if he doesn’t want to.”

 

“Of course he’s coming home with us,” Dad said. “Where else would he go?”

 

Bobby shrugged. “It’s up to you, Dean, but you know you’re always welcome here.”

 

“You’re not his father.”

 

Bobby’s face darkened. “You do not want to get into this with me, John Winchester.”

 

“But Dean, surely after everything that has happened you don’t want to keep living this life,” Mom said.

 

Dean wasn’t sure. He didn’t think he could cope with going out on a hunt tomorrow, but he still couldn’t imagine being anything other than a hunter. He didn’t want innocent people to go through the sorts of things that he had. Monsters were still out there, and someone needed to hunt them. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

 

“Give him a break,” Sam insisted. “He doesn’t have to decide his whole future right now.”

 

“We need to head back to Lawrence soon,” Mom said. “Dean, we’re a family. We want you to come home.”

 

The problem was that Bobby’s house felt a lot more like home than Lawrence ever had. It was the only place where Dean had felt he could really be himself. While they were here, everyone had been different. They felt like a family for the first time in a long time. Maybe that would continue back in Lawrence, with the truth out at last, but Dean couldn’t be sure. Besides, Bobby and Cas were as much his family as his parents were. He couldn’t leave them behind and pretend none of this had ever happened.

 

“I have to think about it,” he said.

 

“Come on, Dean, don’t you think you’ve done enough? You saved the world already. You defeated the big bad.”

 

“Actually, there’s a bigger bad you need to worry about.”

 

The unexpected intrusion received an instantaneous reaction from everyone in the room – they all leapt up from the table and pulled out weapons, Dad stepping in front of Mom, Mom pushing Sammy behind her and Cas shielding Dean. They were all ready to shoot first and ask questions later but the intruder flung up his hands. “Don’t shoot!”

 

Bobby flung holy water anyway and it had no effect.

 

“I’m not a demon,” the intruder said in an affronted voice, plucking a tea towel off the surface to dry his face with. “What appalling manners you humans have. I come here out of the goodness of my heart to warn you about the impending Apocalypse and you don’t even invite me to tea.”

 

“Balthazar?” Cas asked in surprise.

 

“Yes, it’s me.” He offered a charming smile. “Hello, Cas.”

 

“You know this guy?” Dean asked.

 

“He’s an angel.”

 

“That isn’t hugely reassuring.”

 

“Oh don’t get your panties in a twist,” Balthazar said. “I’m one of the good guys.”

 

“Cas?”

 

“He’s a soldier from my old garrison. A friend.”

 

“Precisely. Cas and I go way back… though I suppose it is further back for you. You have no idea how strange it is to be talking to a version of you that is thirty years older than the angel I know. Or, rather, the angel I knew.” A shadow of grief passed across his face.

 

“Castiel is dead?”

 

“Yes. Raphael killed him for aiding in your escape from Heaven. It wasn’t pretty.”

 

Dean remembered that Cas had said there was another version of him up in Heaven. He didn’t know the other guy personally but it saddened him to know the angel was dead, especially since his actions had helped to save him from Hell.

 

“I’m sorry,” Cas said.

 

“Well you were him once, so it is not like he is gone completely. But he did not deserve to die that way. Which is why I am here.”

 

“What is it, Balthazar?”

 

“Castiel was a friend. But more than that, he was a good angel. The best of us. He would not have betrayed Heaven without due cause. After he exploded and was posthumously declared a traitor, I went looking for an explanation. I had to dig deep, but I discovered that the upper management has been feeding us lies for centuries.”

 

“They planned to start the apocalypse,” Cas said.

 

“Yes, well I for one did not sign up for that. Dad may have left us high and dry but his last instruction was pretty clear; we are charged with the protection of this planet. Sure, the humans have done a good job of wrecking it themselves but despite their general stupidity, bad taste in music and terrible film-making, the population as a whole doesn’t deserve to be annihilated.”

 

“Thanks,” Dean said sarcastically – Balthazar had just insulted the human race after all – but he was also somewhat grateful to find another angel who was on their side. “But I thought we stopped the Apocalypse already.”

 

“Yeah, well, you put in a good effort there kiddo but, demons or no demons, the big bosses are determined to see this apocalypse happen.”

 

“What are they going to do?” Cas asked.

 

“You know those old prophecies about the Righteous Man? He will break the first seal and then he will be the one to end the war…”

 

“I’m familiar with the prophecies, yes.”

 

“Word is that young Dean here is the Righteous Man.”

 

“So what if he is? The seals are irrelevant now that Lilith is dead.”

 

“Perhaps, but it is the second half of the prophecy you need to worry about. Ever wonder how a mere human was supposed to kill Lucifer and stop the Apocalypse? Turns out that he was only ever destined to be a weapon for the archangel Michael to use. Dean is Michael’s vessel.”

 

“What is that supposed to mean?” Dean asked. Whatever it was, he did not like the sound of it.

 

“It means Michael wants to wear you to the prom,” Balthazar said. “Once he has possessed you, he will break Lucifer out of the Cage himself. They will have their prize fight, and the winner will take all.”

 

“Michael can’t take Dean without permission.”

 

“I am aware of that. But I am afraid they will find a way to persuade him.” Balthazar looked around the room. “It seems Dean has a lot to lose.”

 

The unspoken threat hung heavy in the air. Dean felt sick. He didn’t know if he could withstand any more torture, but he knew he would break in an instant if anyone tried to harm Sammy.

 

“They wouldn’t – they can’t – they’re _angels,_ ” Mom blurted. “Why would they want to hurt my family?”

 

“You are merely collateral damage, my dear. This is the Grand Story. They could care less, I’m afraid.”

 

“What are we supposed to do?”

 

“I do not know. But you had better think of something, because they are coming. And they will be here soon.”

 

“Balthazar, stand with us,” Cas pleaded. “We could use your help.”

 

“Sorry, brother. I warned you for Castiel’s sake, but although he was willing to die for this cause I am not. I have to look after my own interests. Goodbye, Cas, and good luck.”

 

The angel vanished as quickly as he had arrived.

 

There was a long silence.

 

Dean sighed. “Yep, now I know this is for real. Only my life could be this screwed up.”

 

“So I guess we hit the books and try to find a way to stop the armies of Heaven,” Bobby said. “Sounds easy.”

 

“Oh yeah, it’s a cake walk alright,” Dean said.

 

Cas’s expression was grave. “This is far more serious than inanimate baked goods taking a stroll. This is the end of the world.”

 

“Isn’t it always?”

 

Cas shot him a look.

 

“Yeah, yeah, we’d better get started.”

 

Dinner was abandoned as they all went looking for books that could help them find a solution to this problem.

 

Dean didn’t think it would do them much good, though. They were doomed.

 

ooOOoo


	26. Chapter 26

“Does it hurt?” Dean asked in a small voice.

 

Cas was drawing Enochian symbols on the walls and windows of the house in the hopes that it could offer some protection against the angels, but Dean’s question made him pause.

 

“My Grace is depleted enough that the warding impacts me little,” he said. It rendered him powerless, but what power he’d had was not enough to make a difference in this battle anyway. At least this way he was making some sort of contribution to the war effort.

 

“That’s good,” Dean said. “But I meant… does it hurt to be possessed by an angel?”

 

He tried to sound nonchalant, but Cas could hear the anxiety in his voice. This boy had endured far too much pain already; he didn’t deserve to suffer any more. Cas turned to face him and tried to be as reassuring as possible.

 

“No one is going to possess you, Dean. Once the warding is complete no angel will be able to reach you here. We will keep you safe.”

 

“Cas, you and I both know that this is a temporary solution. Sure, you guys can lock me up in here forever if you want to, but sooner or later someone is going to have to go out to buy groceries or toilet paper or something and as soon as they do the angels will be all over them. They’ll be tortured and maybe even killed unless I do what the angels want. If I refuse to cooperate, they will take you guys out one by one until I’m left starving and alone. If I’m stubborn enough to die that way, the angels will just bring me back to life and torture me until I give in. They have all the time in the world. We can’t win this siege.”

 

As much as he hated it, Cas knew that Dean was right. Angels were immortal and their patience could last centuries.

 

“If our defeat is inevitable,” Dean continued, “I don’t see much point in sacrificing my family for a lost cause. I might as well surrender before I have to watch everyone I love suffer and die. At least maybe then I can make arrangements to keep you safe. Maybe I won’t lose everything.”

 

“Dean, if the Apocalypse happens the world will burn. Millions, perhaps even billions, will perish.”

 

“You don’t think I know that?” Dean’s voice cracked. “All I ever wanted to do was protect innocent people, but this is too big, Cas. I can’t do it. I’m not strong enough. You know it, I know it, my family knows it. When the pressure is on, when the pain starts, I’ll break easy. I don’t have what it takes to stand against them anymore, if I ever did. I know people are gonna die. I know their blood will be on my hands. I know that my weakness will destroy the world. But there’s nothing I can do, except maybe try to save a small handful of people by giving myself up early. I’m just trying to make the best of a bad situation here.”

 

“We will find a way, Dean. You cannot lose hope.”

 

“I lost hope five years ago,” Dean said flatly. “I’m not going to find it again now. All I want to know is if possession hurts so I can be prepared.”

 

Pain would not deter him, Cas realised. If anything, Dean would embrace it as punishment for his failure to save everyone.

 

“It doesn’t hurt,” Cas said softly. “It will feel just like falling asleep.” But Dean would never wake up, not even after Michael left his body. He would be in a permanent vegetative state.

 

Saying yes to Michael was an act of suicide.

 

“Dean, if you choose to leave I will not stop you. But please at least give us a chance to find a better option. We don’t want to lose you.”

 

Dean hesitated. “Three days,” he said finally. “Then I do what I have to.”

 

ooOOoo

 

“Okay, what are we up against, exactly?” Dad asked.

 

They had been bogged down in books and research for days without making any significant progress and Dean was getting antsy. No one had said anything yet, but the supplies in the cupboard were running dangerously low. There were no Lucky Charms left for Sam to have for breakfast the next morning, only the barest scraping of peanut butter in the jar for sandwiches and they were going to have to resort to boiled eggs for dinner because they had virtually nothing else.

 

Dean was determined that he would give himself up before he let his family draw straws to see who would risk making a run to the supermarket. His life was not worth any more than theirs and the only way he could cope with becoming an angel condom was if he had the assurance that his family would be okay. He had meant what he said; he was not going to watch the people he loved die for him. No way in hell.

 

“Michael,” Cas said. “Raphael. Zachariah. A host of angels that will obey orders without question.”

 

Dad nodded, writing the basic stats down on a sheet of paper. “Their powers include…”

 

“Teleportation. Invulnerability to most human weapons. Regeneration. Super strength and senses. Invisibility. Dream walking. Telekinesis. Should I go on?”

 

Dean massaged his temples, feeling his headache intensifying. With every moment that passed he became more and more convinced that there was no way out. “Please don’t.”

 

“Okay, so angels are some tough SOBs. But they do have some weaknesses.”

 

“They cannot pass through angel warding. They can be trapped within a ring of Holy Fire and cannot heal easily if burned with it. They will die if stabbed with an angel sword. There is an exorcism chant that can eject an angel from their vessel and banish them to Heaven. They are vulnerable to some forms of magic, like the blood spell I taught you that will banish any angels within close proximity.”

 

“Right. Well, we have the angel warding up and we have some holy oil on mail order from Israel. We have memorised the exorcism you wrote down for us and we have practiced drawing the blood spell. However, we don’t have any angel swords because yours was taken when Heaven captured you and we don’t know of any other way to kill an angel.”

 

“My angel sword could not harm Michael. Only an archangel’s blade can kill an archangel.”

 

“I don’t really see Michael, Raphael or Lucifer loaning us theirs so we can gank them,” Dean said dryly. “Sounds to me like these guys are pretty much unstoppable. We could keep them away for a little while, but eventually they’re gonna wear us down. We’d be better off if I just-”

 

“Wait a minute,” Mom said. She picked up a Bible from the table and started leafing through it, eyes scanning the pages until she found the page she was looking for. “Here. There aren’t many angels mentioned by name in this book, but of those that serve God, we see the archangel Michael and the messenger,” she pointed to the text, “Gabriel. He must have some importance.”

 

“He is one of the four archangels,” Cas revealed.

 

“You didn’t list him as a threat.”

 

“That is because he left Heaven a long time ago.”

 

“Left as in Fell? Like Lucifer?”

 

“No, he was not cast out. One day he was just gone. Many of us believe he is in hiding somewhere on Earth.”

 

“So he is not allied with Lucifer or with Heaven?”

 

“He wanted no part of the fighting. Even if we could find him he is unlikely to side with us.”

 

“He doesn’t have to. He just has to hand over the sword.”

 

“So we can use it to kill his brother?” Dean asked. “Pretty sure that’s not going to happen.”

 

“Besides, I doubt any of us would survive hand-to-hand combat against Michael long enough to deal a mortal wound,” Cas pointed out. “Not to mention the fact that he would have to be inhabiting a vessel for the blade to work…”

 

Dean went very, very still. “Cas? You said that when an angel possesses someone it is like they are sleeping while the angel rides around in their skin, right?”

 

Cas nodded uncertainly.

 

“But what if they were awake? Could they fight back? Distract the angel somehow? Slow it down?”

 

“Dean-”

 

“I’m serious! If we had the sword and I said yes to Michael, do you think there’s a chance I could sabotage him from the inside long enough for you to kill him?”

 

“Maybe… But Dean, when an angel is killed the vessel dies too.”

 

“So? Me dying is a small price to pay if it means stopping Michael before he can unleash Armageddon.”

 

“Dean, no,” Mom protested. “The point of all this is finding a way to protect you! We’re not going to let you go on a suicide mission-”

 

“My life, my choice,” Dean said.

 

“But Dean, if you didn’t think you were strong enough to say no to Michael, what makes you think you will be strong enough to fight him when he’s possessing you?” Dad asked.

 

Dean glared. “Because I will do anything to protect this family. Saying no endangers all of your lives and I admit that I’m too weak to hold out against Michael if it means watching you all die horrible deaths. But committing suicide and taking Michael with me will mean that you and everyone else on this planet will be safe. I can find strength enough for that.”

 

“Dean-”

 

“Mom, when are you going to realise that this is _bigger_ than us? When innocent lives are on the line we can’t afford to be selfish! We can’t hide our heads in the sand and hope someone else will fix the world while we sit around and do nothing. This is on us. This is our fight. _My_ fight. And I’m not going to back down from it.”

 

“But why you? Why do you have to be some kind of hero?”

 

“Because no one else will. I’m sorry, Mom, but I have to do this. And you have to let me go.”

 

“Dean-”

 

“Cas.” Dean couldn’t let the angel finish what he was going to say. He couldn’t let anyone talk him out of this. Cas looked devastated by his decision and Dean knew how much his death would hurt the friend that had been watching over him since he was a child. Cas had given up everything for him and he had no one else in this world; Dean didn’t want to leave him. But he knew what he had to do.

 

“Thanks for looking out for me for all these years,” he said softly. “But you told me once that I was important, and I can’t imagine that there is anything past or future more important than this. You saved me so many times and I could never repay the debt I owe you, but I am afraid I have to ask one more thing from you. Help me save the world, Cas. Find Gabriel. Do whatever it takes to get his sword from him, and be ready to act when I make my move. You’re the only one I trust to do this. Please, Cas.”

 

The angel looked torn. Dean had never seen Cas cry before, but he would swear that there were tears in his eyes now.

 

“You know I always do what you ask of me,” Cas whispered.

 

Dean smiled sadly. “Thank you.”

 

Unwilling to make this harder than it already was, he chose not to see the grief written all over the faces around him.

 

Which is why he missed the fierce determination on Sam’s.

 

ooOOoo


	27. Chapter 27

 

The whole idea that angels were evil was difficult for Sam to accept. It made sense to him that demons were the embodiment of evil but he had always pictured angels as being the opposite – good, pure and righteous. The only angel he knew personally was Cas and although he didn’t fit many of the stereotypes, there was no doubt in Sam’s mind that he was one of the good guys.

 

Sam wanted to believe that there were other angels like Cas. He couldn’t deny the corruption of Heaven when they were plotting to end the world and destroy Dean in the process, but he wanted to give this Gabriel guy the benefit of the doubt. Surely if he was given the chance to do the right thing he would take it.

 

Conscious of the angel warding around Bobby’s house, Sam snuck out into the car yard to pray.

 

“Archangel Gabriel?” he asked, closing his eyes and bowing his head respectfully. “My name is Sam – Sam Winchester.” Did his name hold any significance? With all the talk of destiny and fate, Sam thought it might.

 

“I’m sorry to disturb you, but my family – and your family – need your help. I don’t know if you know what’s been going on in Heaven lately ‘cause Cas says you’ve been gone a while but your brother Michael is trying to start an Apocalypse on Earth and he intends to use my brother Dean to do it.” Sam struggled to keep a lid on the anger and frustration he felt. He wished Heaven and Hell would fight between themselves somewhere way off in another galaxy and just leave his planet and his family alone.

 

“Cas says you live down here, so I’m hoping that means you care enough not to want to see your home away from home go up in flames. But even if you don’t care, you should know that we humans _do_ and we are willing to do whatever it takes to stop the world from ending. At the moment, that means killing Michael. My brother Dean intends to sacrifice himself to see it done, and he’ll do it, I know he will. Maybe you think he’s just a kid, he’s no threat, but you’re wrong. He’s the strongest person I know and he has already taken some pretty big fish. Believe me when I say he’ll stop at nothing.” Dean had already given his life once to save Sam, and Sam had no doubt that he would do it again. But he shouldn’t have to. If he could, Sam wanted to be the one to save him this time.

 

“I don’t pretend to know anything about God or angels or Heaven or what your life is like, but I do know something about family. Family can be a pain; big brothers especially. But if you love your brother as much as I love mine you won’t want to see him die any more than I do. The way things are going, our brothers are going to kill each other. There has to be another solution; some way to avoid bloodshed and end this peacefully. I admit, I’m out of ideas. But you’re an archangel. There has to be something you can do. Please, Gabriel. Please help me.”

 

Sam risked opening his eyes and looked around hopefully. But the car yard was empty.

 

“Come on!” Sam yelled. “What are you, a coward? Too afraid to stand up to your family? You _ran away_ when they needed you and this is your chance to make up for it. Do something _good_ for once! Prove that you’re not a dick like the rest of your brothers. Be the better man.”

 

But there was nothing. Only silence.

 

Sam was stunned. He hadn’t considered the possibility that Gabriel wouldn’t answer his prayer. Without the archangel, Sam had nothing. No back-up plan, no other way out. He didn’t know how to save Dean.

 

Dean was going to die.

 

Sam’s fists clenched and his face screwed up in his efforts not to cry. He knew what life without Dean was like. It sucked. It was cold and empty and lonely and awful. Those two weeks had felt like an eternity and the grief had been crushing him, slowly but surely. When Dean came back Sam had dared to believe that miracles really could happen, but now Dean was going to be ripped away from him again, this time for good.

 

Screw the apocalypse; _Sam’s_ world was ending. Nothing would ever be the same.

 

His shoulders slumped with defeat. Angrily scrubbing the tears from his eyes, he turned back to the house. He had to face his failure and, somehow, he had to think of a way to say goodbye.

 

There was a flutter of wings behind him.

 

Sam spun around so fast that he nearly tripped over himself. “Gabriel?”

 

The archangel wasn’t what he had expected. He was ancient, like in his forties at least, with grey hair and a receding hairline. He wore a stuffy suit and a seedy smile that Sam didn’t trust at all.

 

“Hello, Sam.”

 

“You heard my prayer.”

 

The smile widened. “Oh yes. You prayed so loudly I think most of Heaven could hear you.”

 

Sam swallowed. “I thought praying to a specific angel meant it was for their ears only.”

 

“Normally, yes. But Gabriel has been AWOL for centuries, so prayers addressed to him are treated more like an open call.”

 

Sam took a step back, beginning to realise that he might be in trouble. “You’re… not Gabriel?”

 

“That poncy little troublemaker? No. I’m Zachariah.”

 

Zachariah. The angel Cas had listed as the second biggest threat after Michael.

 

Sam had left the wards.

 

He made a break for it, sprinting towards the back door of the house in frantic hope that he could make it in time.

 

An invisible hand snatched the back of his shirt. It yanked him back towards the angel and cast him to the ground at his feet.

 

“Foolish human. You can hide, but you cannot run from me.”

 

Sam struggled to stand up, to try again, but the invisible force pressed him into the dirt. “Stay put.  You might be a vessel, but I will hurt you if I have to.”

 

Every bit as stubborn as his older brother, Sam continued to wriggle in a futile attempt to free himself. “I thought Dean was Michael’s vessel.”

 

“Oh, he is. But you’re Lucifer’s.”

 

Sam froze. “ _What_?”

 

“Well once he gets out of the Cage Lucifer is going to need a meat suit as well. As Dean’s younger brother you are the perfect candidate, and I must say that Azazel prepared you beautifully.”

 

“The demon blood.”

 

“Yes. Of course, you’ll need to drink a few gallons more of it before Lucifer’s twisted Grace can possess you without making you explode into chunky soup, but we’ll get to that later.”

 

Sam felt sick. The Devil – the most evil creature in all of creation – the _father_ of evil – wanted to possess him. And if he did, Dean and Sam would unwittingly be pitted against each other in a battle to the death.

 

What was worse was the knowledge that as soon as Dean found out about this he would be more determined than ever to kill Michael before he could let Lucifer out of the Cage. He would plunge that sword into his own chest before he’d let Sam get hurt.

 

“For now, all you need to worry about is getting your brother out here,” Zachariah said. “Call him, would you?”

 

“No!” Sam spat.

 

Zachariah shrugged. “Don’t say I didn’t ask nicely.”

 

Before Sam could work out what the angel meant he was struck with an explosion of pain.

 

He couldn’t help it. In that instant, as agony ripped through every fibre of his being, all rationale thought was erased. He forgot all about his vow to save Dean. He forgot about the consequences.

 

He screamed.

 

ooOOoo

 

Dean had the unsettled feeling that something was wrong, but there was very little right with his life so he attributed it to the mess of anxiety that had been churning in his gut for days and tried not to think about it. All of this would be over soon anyway. As soon as Cas found the archangel blade, Dean would give himself over to Michael. Not long after that, one way or the other, Dean would be dead.

 

It didn’t bother him as much as he thought it should.

 

After Hell, living was hard. Every breath was an effort. Every attempted smile hurt. He was trying to be okay so his family wouldn’t worry, but the pretence was draining.

 

One last battle, and then he could let go.

 

To be honest, it would be a relief.

 

All he really cared about was keeping his family safe. As long as they were okay, he could be at peace.

 

The sound of Sam’s scream shattered the illusion.

 

Dean ran for the door. He didn’t know why Sam was outside and it didn’t matter; if he was outside the wards that meant an angel could get to him and if he was screaming an angel already had. Dean knew what they wanted and he knew how far they’d go to get it and there was no way in hell he was going to let them do that to Sammy.

 

Strong arms caught him around his waist. “No, Dean! You can’t go out there. I’ll go, I’ll get Sammy.”

 

Dean shoved his father away. “You _stay here_! You’re just going to give him more hostages!”

 

“He’s my son!”

 

“And he’s my baby brother! You can’t help him, Dad, only I can. Don’t you dare get in my way.”

 

“Dean-”

 

“Bobby, my parents try to leave you shoot them in the leg, you hear me?”

 

Dean didn’t wait to see if his instructions would be followed. He burst through the door and sprinted out into the car yard, guided by the sound of Sam’s screams.

 

“STOP!” he yelled.

 

He didn’t recognise the angel but it wore a meat suit so it probably wasn’t Michael. His next best guess was Zachariah.

 

The angel waved a dismissive hand and Sam’s writhing body slumped motionless to the ground.

 

“Dean!” he said cheerfully. “Glad you could make it.”

 

“You leave my brother alone, you bastard,” Dean growled.

 

“Well now, you see, that’s up to you. If you don’t do what I tell you I’m afraid little Sammy here is going to experience every pain and illness known to man and a few that aren’t until you give in. Alternatively-”

 

“I’ll do it.”

 

The angel’s eyebrows rose. “What did you say?”

 

“I’ll do it,” Dean repeated, loud and firm. “I’ll say yes to Michael. Leave my brother out of it.”

 

“Are you serious? I barely spent a minute working this kid over and I didn’t even start on you and you’re giving in just like that?”

 

Dean held his head high, ignoring the mockery. “I’ve made my decision.”

 

“Wow. I knew you’d be easy to crack but I didn’t expect you to be such a pushover.”

 

“Did you come here to insult me or to secure a vessel for your boss?” Dean asked. “You’re wasting time.”

 

“Fine, have it your way. One archangel coming up.”

 

“First, you heal my brother.”

 

“I barely even-”

 

“ _Fix him._ ”

 

The angel rolled his eyes but gestured at Sam. Sam lurched upright, gasping and flailing. He looked at the angel and then at Dean, eyes wide with terror.

 

“The kid is fine. Can we get on with this?”

 

“You have to promise that he’ll be safe.”

 

“Heaven won’t touch him, I swear it,” Zachariah said, crossing his fingers over his heart.

 

“And no harm is to come to my family.”

 

“Done.”

 

“That includes Bobby Singer and Castiel.”

 

His face wrinkled with disgust. “The traitor deserves what’s coming to him.”

 

“Cas walks free or no deal,” Dean said firmly.

 

“Fine. Your pet angel will be pardoned. Anyone else?”

 

Dean wanted to say _everyone_ else, but if he pushed too far Zachariah would just go back to torturing Sam.

 

“That’s it,” he gritted out.

 

Zachariah clapped his hands. “Fantastic. Let’s get this show on the road. I’ll call Michael down, you’ll say yes and we’ll have ourselves a merry Apocalypse.”

 

“Dean, no!” Sam cried.

 

The last thing Dean wanted was for Sam to see this, to go through the trauma of watching his brother die all over again, but there was no other choice. “I’m sorry, Sammy, but I’m doing what I gotta. Be good, okay?”

 

Sammy just shook his head, tears in his eyes, and Dean forced himself to look away. He braced himself. “I’m ready.”

 

Zachariah opened his mouth and started to chant in a language Dean didn’t recognise. But before he could get more than two words out, the flap of wings heralded the arrival of a newcomer.

 

Candy bar in one hand and angel sword in the other, the unknown angel surveyed the scene almost curiously. Sam stared up at him with a mixture of hope and disbelief, and the angel winked at him. “Someone order an archangel?”

 

ooOOoo


	28. Chapter 28

 

" _Gabriel_?" Zachariah sounded equal parts incredulous and enraged.

 

"I haven't gone by that name in a while. But yeah, bro, it's me – the herpes of the heavenly realms. Just when you thought I was gone for good, here I am, back again and as irritating as ever.”

 

Gabriel. Dean had expected the archangel to be harder to find but he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. If that was Gabriel then the weapon that could kill Michael was within reach and they were one step closer to preventing the Apocalypse.

 

Dean eyed the archangel’s sword. It was held casually, almost carelessly, which could either mean that Gabriel had no intention of using it or that he was powerful enough that he knew he wouldn’t need to. Dean was fast; there was a chance he could snatch it while the angels were busy talking. But it wouldn’t be enough to simply grab the sword; Dean would have to steal it without either angel noticing so that word wouldn't get back to Michael that Dean's apparent consent was a trap.

 

Unfortunately, with what Cas had told him about archangels, Dean was pretty sure that trying to disarm Gabriel would be about as easy as diffusing a nuclear bomb.

 

“This matter does not concern you, Gabriel," Zachariah said. "Go crawl back into the hole you've been hiding in."

 

"I wouldn't call my luxury mansion a ‘hole’, exactly. It has an indoor pool, a gazebo, a tennis court, a mini bar and round-the-clock buffet dining, not to mention an endless supply of scantily-clad women who can provide hours of entertainment. _Lots_ of sex.”

 

Zachariah’s nose wrinkled with disgust. “God’s holy messenger, slumming it with humans. Heaven is well rid of you.”

 

“You’re trying to tell me you didn’t miss me? Not even a little? I’m offended, Zac.”

 

“ _Do not_ call me that,” Zachariah growled. “’Zac’ is a pudgy fledgling. I’ll have you know that I report _directly_ to Michael now. I am one of the highest ranked angels in Heaven and you should give me the respect I deserve.”

 

“You’ve still got a stick up your ass, then. Can’t say I’m surprised.”

 

The angels were bickering like siblings and it was bizarre to watch. But then, that was what all of this boiled down to; a family argument being fought out on a planetary scale.

 

Dean didn’t know what to make of this Gabriel character, but the squabbling proved to be a sufficient distraction for Dean to edge around to Sammy’s side without drawing attention. He didn’t risk talking to him, even in whispers, but after growing up together they could communicate fairly well through body language and facial expressions. Dean started to check Sam for injuries but Sam pushed his hands away in assurance that he was fine. Dean raised his eyebrows to ask _‘Really?’_ and a slightly haunted look passed over Sam’s face before he shook it off and nodded firmly. Dean squeezed his shoulder gently, knowing how he felt and promising he would do everything he could to make sure Sam wouldn’t be hurt like that again. Sam patted his hand in thanks. Dean jerked his head in Gabriel’s direction, a question in his eyes. Sam pressed his palms together briefly in a mime of prayer. Dean shook his head but Sam folded his arms stubbornly, defending his actions. Dean just shrugged. They had no way of knowing how this would go.

 

Meanwhile, Zachariah scowled at his older brother. "Get lost, Gabriel. You have no business here.”

 

“Actually, I'm running a new business these days. I call it ‘just desserts’.” Gabriel waved his candy bar in the air, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “It’s more of a pastime really, but let me tell ya, there’s no shortage of job satisfaction when you’re dishing out your own brand of vigilante justice to those who really deserve it.”

 

Zachariah looked less than convinced. “Vigilante justice? That is hardly your style, Gabriel. As I recall, you wasted most of your time in Heaven playing pranks on the other angels and being a general nuisance.”

 

Gabriel grinned. “Precisely. Up there I was a celestial pain in the ass. Down here I’m known as the Trickster.”

 

The name rang a bell. Dean thought he might have come across it in one of Bobby’s old books – _Mythical Creatures of Scandinavia_ , maybe? Tricksters were supposed to be mischievous creatures that had the power to warp reality and thrived on creating chaos. Gabriel would certainly have the juice to pull off similar feats, but how an archangel went from being a soldier of Heaven to a self-proclaimed demi-god of mischief and mayhem was beyond Dean.

 

Zachariah’s lip curled with disdain. “I see you haven’t matured at all in your 2000 year absence. If our father could see you now…”

 

Gabriel’s expression soured. “ _Don’t_ talk to me about Dad. _He_ left _first,_ remember? He shirked his responsibilities and left us with no guidance, no instructions. I was just following _his_ poor example.”

 

“Then do it right. Stay gone.”

 

“I could. That would certainly be the easier option. But _someone_ ,” Gabriel glanced at Sam, “told me to ‘be the better man’. I thought I’d give it a shot.”

 

“So, what, you want back in? There’s no way you’re getting your old position back, but I suppose you could be _some_ use in the fight against Hell’s armies when Lucifer is free…”

 

“You misunderstand me. I’m not here to help _you,_ Zac. I’m here to help _them._ ” Gabriel gestured to Sam and Dean with a sweep of his candy bar.

 

Sam’s face lit up and he gave Dean a look that said _‘I told you so’_. Dean was reserving judgement, though. What did ‘help’ entail? Would Gabriel hand over the archangel sword? Would he stand with them against Heaven?

 

Zachariah did not look happy. “You’re choosing humans over your own family?”

 

“This is _their_ planet, Zac. Dad created it for _them_ , not for us. We can’t just bust in and destroy the place.”

 

“We will rebuild it, make it better, more beautiful. We will transform the Earth into Paradise.”

 

“And millions of humans will die in the process.”

 

“So? They are nothing but a plague of cockroaches. Look at what they have done to our father’s creation in the few thousand years since he granted them ownership. They have filled the skies and seas with pollution, decimated entire forests, eradicated hundreds of species and spilled oceans of blood. Their extermination will rid the world of this disease and when the last trace of their filth is gone we will care for the Earth in the way God intended.”

 

“You know, Zac, you sound a lot like Lucifer. We were not charged with custodianship of the Earth, we were instructed to be guardians of the people. You and Michael seem to have forgotten that.”

 

“Who are you to school me, Gabriel? You abandoned our mission long before we gave it up as a lost cause.”

 

“Well I was wrong, and I’ve come to make it right.”

 

“What are you going to do?” Zachariah challenged. “Fight Michael yourself? A celebrity death match between the two of you would be just as destructive as one against Lucifer.”

 

“No. I’m not going to fight my brother.”

 

So, Dean was right about him. He wouldn’t kill Michael. They were brothers and Gabriel was human enough for that to mean something to him. He could no more hurt Michael than Dean could hurt Sam.

 

Dean wondered if Cas would be able to do it. He had chosen Cas because even with limited Grace he was stronger than any human and stood the best chance against Michael. But Dean was asking him to kill a brother and a friend in one fell blow. Though it had to hurt him, Cas had agreed to the plan. He loved Dean enough.

 

“Damn right you’re not going to fight him,” Zachariah said. “You don’t have the guts. Face it, Gabriel, you’re no hero.”

 

“I never said I was. I didn’t come here to save the world.”

 

Sam’s shoulders slumped with disappointment, but Gabriel continued, “I’m simply going to protect the Winchesters so that they can save the world themselves.”

 

Sam beamed but Dean was less than thrilled. They didn’t need protection. Dean could protect Sam just fine on his own. What he needed was the sword.

 

Zachariah snorted derisively. “One snotty-nosed brat barely out of diapers and a broken-willed teenager? Do you really think these guys stand half a chance against Heaven?”

 

“With a little help? Yeah, I do. These humans are delightfully stubborn SOBs. They’ve foiled your plans twice already, haven’t they? Third time’s the charm.”

 

“I’ve got news for you, Gabriel. There’s no fight left in them. Dean has already agreed to say yes to Michael. He made his choice, and he is coming with me.” Zachariah clamped his hand around Dean’s arm and yanked him away from Sam.

 

“No!” Sam yelped, lurching after him. A curt gesture from Zachariah shoved him back and pinned him in place. Sam squirmed and writhed, fighting to get free. “No! _No!_ ”

 

Dean locked eyes with his brother and very deliberately did not struggle against the angel’s hold. Sam knew that Dean saying yes was part of the plan and he had to accept that.

 

When Sam stopped fighting, Dean glanced meaningfully towards the sword in Gabriel’s hand. Sam followed his gaze and his face twisted with grief. He shook his head, turning pleading eyes on his brother. Dean knew it wasn’t fair to ask Sam to help kill him, but if Gabriel had answered his prayer and he claimed to want to help them then maybe he would give Sam the sword willingly once Zachariah and Dean were gone.

 

Dean didn’t want his sacrifice to be in vain. If they wanted to save the world, this was the way to do it.

 

“Dean consented under duress, Zachariah,” Gabriel said. “You were torturing his little brother.”

 

“A yes is a yes, no matter how it was obtained. Besides, I was just doing my job.”

 

“Sam is _twelve_ for Dad’s sake!”

 

“Yes he is. It made for a superbly high-pitched scream.”

 

Dean fought the urge to punch that smug look off the angel’s face, but oddly enough Gabriel looked just as pissed as he felt.

 

“You sick _bastard,_ ” Gabriel accused. “You get off on it, don’t you?”

 

“What can I say? I take pleasure in my work. What were you saying about ‘job satisfaction’?”

 

“I might play deadly pranks on some arrogant dicks, but they all had it coming. Sam is just a kid! You have no right to use and abuse an innocent child like that.”

 

“I have every right. I am an Angel of the Lord. More than that, I am _chosen._ I am holy, I am righteous and I am _feared_. I walk the halls of Heaven and other angels _avert their eyes_! These boys are little more than mutated fish with an overinflated sense of their own importance. They are the scum beneath my shoe. They are cockroaches, Gabriel.”

 

“No they’re not,” Gabriel said. “But you are.”

 

He snapped his fingers and suddenly the band of pressure around Dean’s arm was gone.

 

At first Dean thought the angel had vanished, but then he looked down and saw a large, fat cockroach scuttling around the dirt at his feet.

 

Wide-eyed, Dean looked up at the archangel. He had known archangels were powerful, but this was taking things to a whole other level.

 

Gabriel shrugged. “What? I’m the Trickster, and he was a dick. It’s what I do.”

 

ooOOoo


	29. Chapter 29

 

“Thank you, Gabriel,” Sam said. He let Dean pull him to his feet and dust him off, knowing that the contact was Dean’s way of reassuring himself that Sam was okay. And he was; a little shaky, maybe, but the pain was gone and Dean was safe which was all Sam really cared about.

 

“Huh. That’s not something I hear often in my line of work.”

 

“You saved us.”

 

Gabriel scratched the back of his neck, looking somewhat uncomfortable. “I guess I did. That’s very out of character for me, you know.”

 

“Well, we’re grateful that you turned up when you did.”

 

Gabriel looked to Dean. “You were really going to say yes to Michael, weren’t you?”

 

Dean stiffened and said nothing, glaring down at his toes.

 

“That doesn’t make you weak, Dean,” Sam said, knowing what had to be going through his brother’s mind. “You were doing what you thought you had to.”

 

“Life as an angel condom is rough,” Gabriel said. “Saying yes takes as much guts as saying no.”

 

“Yeah, well saying yes is still be on the table. You might have taken out Zachariah but there are hundreds more where he came from and I’m pretty sure that Michael is like an army unto himself. You’ve already said you’re not going to fight him, which means it is up to us to stop Heaven. As far as I can see, the only way to do that is for me to let Michael in and for someone to gank the both of us with that sword you’re holding.”

 

Gabriel looked down at his archangel sword and clutched it tighter. “You want to kill my brother?”

 

“I don’t see any other option. So if you’re serious about helping out the humans in this fight, you’ll hand over the sword.”

 

“Sorry, but I’m not going to do that.”

 

Dean’s expression darkened. “Then you might as well go back to your playboy mansion to live it up as much as you can before the world ends. You’re useless to us.”

 

“Dean!” Sam hissed.

 

“Don’t worry, kid, I’m not taking it personally. Your brother knew nothing but violence and death during his stint in Hell and that kind of thing is hard to shake off. But I came here to offer you another way out, Dean; one where no one has to die. If you’re interested.”

 

“I’m listening,” Dean said grudgingly.

 

“Okay, here’s the thing… oh,” he raised his voice, “the rest of you might as well stop trying to eavesdrop and come on out here.”

 

“Dean?” Bobby called.  


“If they step outside the wards are we going to have a host of angels on our ass?” Dean asked the archangel.

 

“No. My presence here will give them pause, at least for now. And I would sense them coming if they were dumb enough to try anything.”

 

“It’s fine,” Dean called back.

 

Bobby, Mom and Dad stepped out of the front door and approached cautiously. Bobby was still holding his shotgun, though he had to know it wouldn’t be much use against an angel.

 

“I won’t bite,” Gabriel said. “Unless you want me to, doll face,” he winked at Mom.

 

“Gross, dude!” Dean protested.

 

“Go near my wife and I’ll kill you,” Dad snarled. “If there’s anything left once she’s done with you, that is.”

 

“Ooh, touchy.”

 

Dean rolled his eyes. “Can we just skip to the part where you tell us how to stop the Apocalypse?”

 

“Where’s my kid brother?” Gabriel asked. “We need him here, too.”

 

“Cas? He’s out looking for you.”

 

“Hm.” A look of concentration passed over his face. “Ah, there he is.” Gabriel snapped his fingers and a startled Cas appeared out of nowhere.

 

“What- _Gabriel_?”

 

“Hey bro.”

 

Cas took in the scene, his gaze lingering on Dean before dropping down in bemusement to the cockroach running around at their feet. “Is that-?”

 

“Zac? Yep. Suits him, don’t you think?”

 

“What happened?”

 

Sam told him the short version, trying not to feel guilty about leaving the wards and putting himself and therefore Dean in danger. It had all turned out okay; they had found Gabriel and no one was hurt too badly.

 

“I am surprised you answered Sam’s call,” Cas said to Gabriel. “When you left it was clear you did not intend to return.”

 

“I admit, getting mixed up in this whole mess again was not in my plans, but Sam had some compelling arguments. Besides, I’d really rather not watch my older brothers butcher each other. I figure that if we can keep them separated we can stop our family drama from turning into a family tragedy.”

 

“I would like that,” Cas said. “But Michael is determined to follow the script our father left for us, no matter the cost. He believes it is his destiny to fight Lucifer and he will not be persuaded otherwise.”

 

“Ever the perfect son,” Gabriel sighed. “But fate is a tricky mistress. If we play our cards right, there is a way we can use her to our advantage.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“This is the deal. _If_ Lucifer was to ever escape the Cage, Dad knew he’d be pissed and he wanted to make sure his rebellious son wouldn’t bring about Hell on Earth. So Dad told Michael that when the time came he would have to kill Lucifer, and Michael has been psyching himself up for the job ever since. To be honest, I think the pressure and emotional stress has driven Mike a little crazy.”

 

“I can believe it,” Dean muttered.

 

“However, the rules for the prize fight are pretty strict. Michael and Lucifer _have_ to possess two brothers descended from the line of Cain and Abel. The bloodline has been diluted over the centuries; the only direct descendants were the Winchesters, from Cain, and the Campbells, from Abel.  The union of these two families produced the first pair of brothers the bloodline has seen since its origin.”

 

“Dean and me,” Sam said.

 

“Yep. That’s what makes you two so special. No one else fits the bill.”

 

“You’re saying that Sammy is Lucifer’s vessel?” Dean asked, horrified.

 

“’fraid so. Michael is supposed to possess you, Lucifer is supposed to possess Sam and you two are supposed to fight to the death.”

 

“What the hell? I’m not going to kill Sam! And there’s no way in hell I’m going to let Lucifer ride around in his body! How could they think we would ever agree to that?”

 

“Because you were chosen, and angels don’t really grasp the concept of free will. They don’t think you have a choice.”

 

“Well they’re working damn hard to make sure we don’t. What are we supposed to do, hide in Bobby’s house for the rest of our lives?”

 

“Give them long enough and they’d find a way in. Hiding won’t work, and running won’t work either. Fighting isn’t going to get you anywhere – Dean, I know you think you can hold Michael back long enough for Cas here to get the drop on him, but it is far more likely that you’d just be a helpless spectator watching as Michael atomised Cas and everyone else you cared about. He’s an _archangel_ , more powerful than the rest of us combined. There’s no fighting him.”

 

“Well what then? You’re not exactly helping!”

 

“What you need is a way to say no, once and for all. Not just for yourselves but for your descendants too or else Michael and Lucifer will just wait a few generations for another pair of brothers to be born.”

 

“And how are we supposed to do that?”

 

“God only knows,” Gabriel said, and it sounded hopeless. “Or so Dad thinks. But he had a scribe write it down on a Tablet a long time ago and, well, I snooped. I didn’t hear everything, but there was a section on how to banish angels.”

 

“Seriously?”

 

“Yeah. I didn’t catch the part about how to slam the gates of Heaven on all the angels – something to do with three trials – but to get rid of one or two in particular… I know how it’s done.”

 

“Is that like the blood sigil that is supposed to blast them off the mother ship?” Dad asked. “Because I thought the effects of that were only temporary.”

 

“It’s an adaption of that spell, actually. A lot more complex, but it follows the same principles. If it works, it should banish Michael and Lucifer from Earth permanently and prevent any angel from coming within a twenty mile radius of any member of your family. That’s the great thing about destiny; there is no one else they can use. My older brothers will never be able to possess their vessels, Lucifer will never be released from the Cage and the Apocalypse will never happen.”

 

“So what are we waiting for? What do we need?”

 

“Blood,” Gabriel said. “A lot of blood. Blood of Cain, blood of Abel, blood of the vessels, and blood to represent the intended targets of the spell – in this case, blood of the Fallen and blood of an Archangel. Luckily, we have all of those ingredients right here. It’s gonna take all of us, though. Well, except for you, baseball cap guy, sorry.”

 

Bobby shrugged. “Hey, if I don’t have to open a vein I’m not complaining.”

 

“Sounds easy,” Dean said, pulling out a knife. “Someone get a bowl we can all bleed into and we’ll get painting.”

 

“We need one more thing though, unfortunately,” Gabriel said. “A spell this big, it needs a source of power to work.”

 

“Like electricity?” Dad asked.

 

“No. An angel’s Grace.”

 

“Well, you’re an archangel, don’t you have some to power spare?”

 

“It is not a matter of quantity. The spell demands the core of an angel’s Grace and without it an angel isn’t an angel anymore.”

 

Dean narrowed his eyes. “I’m guessing that’s not a sacrifice you’re willing to make.”

 

“Sorry, kiddo, but as much as I enjoy living among humans I have absolutely no desire to become one. They are weak, mortal, overly emotional, helpless little creatures… no offence.”

 

“That will not be necessary, Gabriel,” Cas said. “Much of my Grace is gone, but my core remains intact.”

 

“Cas-”

 

“You know what losing your core will mean, don’t you little bro? Best case scenario, you’ll be human. Worst case – it could kill you.”

 

“Cas, you don’t have to-”

 

“It’s okay, Dean. I gave up life as an angel a long time ago. And life as a human does not sound so bad, if it means I get to spend it with you.” Blue eyes burned with sincerity, conveying so much emotion that it was almost awkward to witness the silent exchange.

 

Dean flushed and looked down at the ground. The cockroach was still running around making strange patterns in the dirt. Dean stared at it for a little while, his forehead creasing into a frown. “Hey, do those patterns look familiar to anyone?”

 

They followed his gaze.

 

“Yeah, now that you mention it,” Bobby said. “They look a lot like the symbols we painted on my walls to keep the angels out.”

 

“It’s Enochian,” Cas said.

 

“Oh crap!” Gabriel exclaimed. “It’s a summons. Zachariah is summoning Michael here.”

 

“ _What?_ ”

 

“He’s calling Michael down, finishing what he started when I interrupted him before.”

 

“Stop him!”

 

Dean stomped savagely on the cockroach and it splattered under his shoe. For a second they were all blinded by a bright flash of light and when they could see again there was the imprint of wings burned into the ground.

 

“It’s too late,” Gabriel said, “he just finished the final symbol.”

 

Sam quickly scuffed his foot through the writing but the archangel shook his head. “The call has gone out already, there’s nothing we can do.”

 

“Michael’s coming here? _Now?_ ”

 

Gabriel dropped into a battle stance, shifting his grip on his angel sword and turning his attention to the skies. “Right the hell now,” he said grimly.

 

Even as he spoke, a high-pitched sound began ringing in their ears, building with intensity. The glass windows of the cars around them shattered one after the other. The darkness was lit up with a glow that burned brighter and brighter with every second that passed.

 

Sam clutched his hands over his ears. It felt like his eardrums were going to burst.

 

“If we’re going to do this thing it has to be now!” Gabriel yelled. “Here!”

 

A vial of blood appeared in his hand and he tossed it to Sam.

 

“I’ll hold him off as long as I can. _Go, go, go_!”

 

ooOOoo


	30. Chapter 30

 

“Alright, everybody back inside the wards!” Bobby yelled.

 

Dean snagged his brother’s arm and yanked him forward, trying to make his shorter legs move faster as they all sprinted back towards the safety of the house.

 

Fire flared up in their path. Dean staggered back from the intense heat, caught Sam who almost stumbled and tried to go around. The fire spread like a wall in front of them, barring the way. For an instant Dean considered risking severe burns to jump over. They were sitting ducks out here. But before he could attempt it the flames shot sky high. They were forced to retreat.

 

“Back, back, back!” Bobby yelled. “Stick together!”

 

They fled back into the car yard, seeking sanctuary behind the broken down vehicles.

 

The wind picked up, whipping dirt and rocks and shattered glass into the air that lashed at their arms and faces. Dean pressed Sam against the wheel of an old pick-up truck and shielded him with his body as best he could. Debris struck at his exposed skin, leaving a myriad bruises and cuts.

 

Dean swiped at the blood. He stared at the red substance on his hand, and flashbacks to Hell almost crippled him.

 

Blood and torture and screams. Alastair’s face leering at him. Laughter echoing around the chamber. Fire and brimstone and ash and sulphur. Pain and death. Over and over and over…

 

“Dean! Dean!”

 

Sam slapped his face, hard. Dean startled back to awareness.

 

Wide eyes stared at him, worried and afraid. “You okay?”

 

Dean nodded wordlessly. He wasn’t, but having a mental breakdown would have to wait.

 

He looked back down at his hand. “Blood!” he yelled. “The spell, come on!”

 

“We need a bowl!” Mom called back.

 

Thunder boomed overhead. Storm clouds had rolled in out of nowhere. Lightning flashed across the sky and hit the ground behind them. A new fire started, arcing around the yard to connect with the wall of flames in a massive circle. It was trapping them here. There was nowhere to go.

 

“This will have to do!” Bobby yelled. He whipped his cap off his head and turned it over. “Mary!”

 

She took the cap and snagged a jagged piece of glass from the ground. She cut a deep slice in her arm. Blood dribbled into the cap. “John!”

 

It was a gruesome game of pass the parcel. Dean took the cap from his Dad. He hesitated with his knife poised at his skin, memories of being shredded to pieces almost overwhelming him. But he gritted his teeth and cut deep. The blood spilled down his arm and into the cap.

 

Sam squeezed his hand in gentle reassurance and then claimed the knife. He spilled his own blood offering into the cap before tipping in Gabriel’s as well.

 

“Cas, your turn!”

 

Cas darted across the clearing and skidded in next to them. “More angels are coming!” he gasped. “They have vessels, and swords.”

 

“We’d better be fast, then,” Dean said.

 

Cas dragged up the sleeves of his coat and jacket and held out his arm. Sam swiped the blade across his pale skin and the final portion of blood dripped into the cap.

 

There was an expectant pause.

 

“Crap!” Dean swore. “We don’t know the sigil!”

 

“Gabriel!” Sam shouted.

 

The archangel appeared, hair wild, clothes askew. “ _What?_ ”

 

A blast of light arced towards him. He spun and deflected it with the back of his hand. Thirty feet away, a car exploded.

 

“We need the spell!” Sam called.

 

Gabriel deflected another blast. “I’ll send it to you!”

 

“No, not to Sam!” Dean cried as lightning ripped towards them. Dean shoved his brother under the truck. Sam rolled with the momentum, reached the other side and scrambled away from the metal death trap. Cas launched at Dean, knocking him clear. Dean held onto the cap, contorting his body and landing hard to make sure no blood spilled. The lightning missed them, barely. It made his point for him, but he yelled out anyway, “You’ll make him a target, you idiot!”

 

“To me!” Mom shouted.

 

“Fine!” Gabriel bellowed, making a forceful gesture in her direction before he vanished again.

 

Mom staggered, hands darting up to cover her eyes. “G-got it!”

 

Dean ran towards her with the collection of blood.

 

“Dean watch out!”

 

Dean ducked and dodged to the side. The angel that had been gunning for him stumbled. Cas threw himself at the angel and they both crashed to the ground. They grappled in the dirt as Cas tried to wrench his sword out of his hand.

 

Dean ran onwards. He shoved the cap into his Mom’s hands. “Hurry!”

 

He ran back to help Cas. He kicked the attacker in the head and three savage blows were enough to daze him. Cas claimed the sword, then flung it to Dean. “I’ll get another one!”

 

Ten or so more angels were running towards them. The walls of fire parted to grant them passage. As soon as they were through the flames surged to close the gap.

 

Dean flipped the sword in his hand and launched into the fray.

 

The angels were strong and fierce, but Dean had fought against Cas in training and he knew he could use his size and speed to his advantage. He ducked and darted around them, moving in to make quick stabs before dancing out again. He never stayed in one place for longer than a second. Cas was at his side and watching his back and taking out angels that he wounded, but they kept coming.

 

In a split second pause, Dean glanced back at his mother. She was painting on the hood of a car, fingers dripping with blood.

 

Thunder rolled and rain sleeted from the sky.

 

The fires burned hotter than ever but Mom cried out in despair as the sigil began to wash away under the deluge.

 

As Dean tried frantically to think of a solution a glancing blow caught him across the head. He saw stars.

 

“Dean-” Cas shoved him to the ground and stood over him, beating off the attackers. He was in danger of being surrounded but he wouldn’t move, protecting Dean as he struggled to get his bearings again.

 

Dean saw his Dad kick a car door off its hinges. He hoisted it into the air and held it over Mom’s head, blocking the elements. She kept painting.

 

Bobby appeared, splattered in blood with an angel sword in his hand. He stabbed an angel through the neck just as he was about to do the same to Cas. As more wings were burned into the ground Bobby dragged Dean to his feet. “Keep fighting!”

 

It was chaos and it was blood. Dean moved on instinct, years of training from Bobby and Cas combining with memories of the other Dean in pitched battle with monsters. He stabbed and whirled and parried and slashed, advanced and retreated. He took advantage of the fact that the angels were trying to capture not kill him. Their hands were everywhere, snatching at his clothes, grasping at his limbs but he never gave them the chance to gain purchase, his sword stinging and biting and forcing retreat.

 

“Nearly there!” Mom yelled. “We just need-”

 

A concussive force hit the ground. Gabriel’s body disappeared into a crater and the shockwave threw Mom violently backwards.

 

She hit the ground with a sickening crunch. She didn’t get up. Her head lolled, blood trickling down her scalp.

 

“ _Mary_!”

 

Recklessly throwing the car door aside, Dad ran to check on her. He dropped to his knees by her side. “Mary! _Mary!_ ”

 

“The sigil!” Bobby yelled. Rain was still flooding from the skies. If they didn’t finish the spell they were all dead.

 

Sam darted out of the shadows and tried to hoist the door back into place. He wasn’t strong enough. Bobby ran to help him.

 

Suddenly reduced to two defenders only, Dean and Cas struggled to counter the sheer force of numbers brought against them. They fought harder than ever, but Dean could tell it wouldn’t be good enough.

 

An angel twisted Castiel’s arms behind his back. No longer a match in brute strength, Cas tried to wrench free but the angel held fast with one hand gripped around both of his wrists. The other pressed the tip of a sword against his throat.

 

“Dean Winchester!” the angel bellowed.

 

Dean froze.

 

Three angels seized him, their hands crushing bruises into his arms and shoulders.

 

“The archangel Michael has a question for you. Answer correctly or everyone here dies, starting with this traitor.”

 

The high-pitched whine started up again. It reverberated in Dean’s ears, growing louder and louder. Michael’s true voice. Dean couldn’t understand the words but he knew what was being asked of him.

 

_Let me in. Let me take over your body and wear you as a meat suit. Let me use you to free Lucifer from Hell so he can possess Sam. Let me start the Apocalypse. Let me make you responsible for the deaths of millions. Let me destroy the world while you watch. Let me use your own two hands to kill our brothers. Let me in, Dean, and I will spare your loved ones. Just say yes._

 

“No!”

 

The whine built in pitch. Dean winced, hunching his shoulders in a vain attempt to block his ears. The sound felt like a thousand knives ripping into his flesh. He was sure his eardrums were going to burst.

 

“No, no, no, no, no, _no_!” Dean screamed. He screamed it over and over until he could barely remember why it was so important to refuse. One simple yes and all of this would be over.

 

The pain was excruciating. He could feel blood trickling from his ears.

 

Bright white light surrounded him, burning, searing. Everything was heat and pressure and pain. His head was going to explode.

 

“ _STOP!_ ”

 

The angel’s grips suddenly slackened.

 

Dean slumped to his knees, panting for breath. “I’ll do it,” he rasped.

 

“What was that?”

 

Dean looked up at the angel who held Cas, drawing in a breath to say one fateful word, but blue eyes caught his gaze.

 

Cas was begging him not to do this.

 

_Don’t give in. Don’t surrender to them._

 

Tears burned in the corners of Dean’s eyes. He couldn’t do this. He had reached the limits of his endurance. This was all too much. The weight of the world was crippling and he yearned for an end to it all. He didn’t care anymore. He couldn’t. He wasn’t strong enough. He had to say yes.

 

“I’m sorry,” Dean whispered.

 

Cas gave a minute shake of his head, wordless in his despair.

 

But then a hard look came into his eyes.

 

Dean felt a jolt of panic. “Don’t-”

 

Cas gritted his teeth, and gave a violent jerk of his head.

 

The sword sliced clean through his throat.

 

“ _No_!”

 

Shocked, the angel let him go, his sword clattering to the ground.

 

Dean ran forward, catching the limp body of his best friend in his arms. “Cas, no! No!”

 

A glowing blue light was spilling from the cut in his neck. His Grace. The spell.

 

“You stupid son of a bitch!” Dean cried, clutching at his collar and shaking him, tears splashing onto his cheeks.

 

But the angels had backed off and Dean knew what he had to do. He couldn’t let Castiel’s sacrifice be in vain.

 

With a scream of grief and outrage, Dean caught the Grace in his hands, cupping them together tightly so no trace of the power would be lost. He clambered to his feet and ran.

 

The angels lurched after him but he was faster.

 

“My _answer,_ ” Dean thundered to the Heavens, tears streaming down his face, “is _NO!_ ”

 

He slammed the Grace down into the centre of the spell.

 

There was a blinding flash of light.

 

ooOOoo


	31. Chapter 31

 

Silence. After the cacophony of open warfare, the silence was almost deafening.

 

Dean opened his eyes.

 

He saw stars. A clear night sky. The storm had dissipated as quickly as it had appeared.

 

Dean rolled over and pushed himself to his feet. The splash of water as he moved was abnormally loud. He had been lying in a puddle. He was soaked to the bone, coated in mud and his clothes were plastered to his skin. He was probably cold. Maybe that was why he felt so numb.

 

His gaze took in his surroundings. The fire was gone, leaving scorched earth in its wake. The ground was covered in shattered glass, the ashes of wings and the bodies of dead vessels. Dean wondered if these people had known what they were agreeing to when they let the angels possess them. He wondered if they had expected to be returned to their families, safe and sound, when the angels were done with them. They were dead now. Dean had killed a few himself. Maybe it had been a mercy. But their families would be grieving, and they would never know what had happened.

 

There were no live angels in sight. The presence of Michael could no longer be felt. The spell must have worked. Technically, they had saved the world.

 

Dean wasn’t sure it was worth the price they had paid.

 

Sam and Bobby looked okay for the most part, if a little worse for wear. Dad was cradling Mom’s broken body in his arms.

 

Dean tried to speak but no sound came out. He cleared his throat. “Is she-”

 

Dad just clutched her tighter, tears rolling silently down his cheeks.

 

Dean swallowed.

 

Bobby moved to check on her. Dad resisted at first, but Bobby managed to wrap his fingers around her wrist. “There’s a pulse!” he reported.

 

Dean exhaled a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding.

 

“It’s weak and thready, but it’s there.” Bobby held a hand up to her mouth. “And she’s breathing. John, she’s alive. She’s in a bad way, but if we get her to a hospital soon…”

 

Hope returned to Dad’s eyes. He stood up, quickly but carefully, holding Mom bridal style. “How far?”

 

“10 minutes if we floor it,” Bobby said. “I’ll get the truck.”

 

“I’m coming with you,” Sam said. “But – wait – what about Cas?”

 

Dean’s heart thudded once, painfully. He didn’t want to look, he didn’t want to see, but his gaze was pulled inexorably to his angel.

 

His feet moved of their own accord. He found himself kneeling in the mud at his angel’s side and he couldn’t remember how he got there.

 

The trench coat was dirty. The white shirt was stained crimson. There was a gaping wound where Castiel’s throat should have been, and his blue eyes stared up at the sky, lifeless.

 

Dean reached out trembling fingers in the vain hope of finding a heartbeat, but Castiel’s chest was still beneath his hand. No breath. No signs of life.

 

Dead.

 

Cas was dead.

 

Dean’s hand closed around a fistful of shirt. It was an anchor. He remembered a night, long ago, when he had woken from a nightmare and Cas had been there to comfort him. He had thrown himself into the angel’s arms and sobbed into this shirt until he had no more tears to give. He had been a child, and Cas was his safety.

 

Cas was more than that now. Cas was his hope. His strength. His saviour. His friend. His family.

 

Most days, Cas was the only thing holding Dean together.

 

Cas was dead.

 

Dean couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t cry. Pain clenched and unfurled in his gut and snaked up to coil around his heart, constricting, choking.

 

His knuckles turned white, a stark contrast against the blood-soaked shirt.

 

His lungs struggled to supply oxygen, but his throat was closed.

 

He wanted to scream and rage and sob himself sick, but he couldn’t.

 

The rain had stopped. Dean was drowning.

 

His world was falling apart.

 

Vacant blue eyes stared blankly. Dean had seen them filled with pain and concern and confusion and amusement and love. Now they were empty.

 

Dead.

 

His body shuddered once. Twice. Then the shaking set in and it wouldn’t stop.

 

Dean had endured a thousand agonies at Alastair’s hand, but no torture had come close to this. He felt like he was dying, and not just in body. His soul, his spirit, was screaming out in terrible anguish.

 

But he couldn’t make a sound.

 

Helpless, broken, all Dean could do was curl in around the crushing pain. He rested his head on his angel’s chest, seeking comfort a final time.

 

He wanted strong arms to encircle him and a deep, rough voice to tell him that everything would be alright.

 

But Cas was dead.

 

ooOOoo

 

Dean’s silent grief was painful to witness. Sam wanted to pull his brother away from the body and hug him tight, but he could not intrude on this moment. No matter what he did or said, he couldn’t make this okay.

 

Dean had just lost the one person in his life who had always been there for him. When Sam was being an irritating little brat of a brother, or when Mom was hiding the truth, or when Dad was yelling, or when the kids at school were calling him a freak, Cas had stayed true at his side, making Dean feel wanted, accepted, cherished and loved.

 

With Cas gone, Dean would never be the same.

 

Looking at him now, curled into Cas, trembling, unable to even cry in the wake of devastating grief, Sam realised that Dean might not be able to recover from this. Not after everything else he had been through.

 

There was only so much a person could take. Dean had been pushed over the ledge, and Cas had caught him. He had been barely holding on, but Cas had refused to let him go and there had been a chance, a small chance, that someday Dean could find solid ground again. Without Castiel’s hand to hold, Dean was in free fall.

 

Sam didn’t know how to save him.

 

If he could, he would save Cas. He would bring the angel back to life and give him stern instructions to never leave his brother like that again.

 

But he didn’t have that kind of power.

 

No one did.

 

No – _wait._ No _human_ had that power. But angels did.

 

Granted, after what they had just done most angels would rather kill them than help them at this point, and with the spell in place they wouldn’t be able to come near them anyway. But Gabriel had helped them in the fight against Heaven, and his blood had been used to create the spell. If he was still around, and if he was willing, maybe he could help Cas.

 

Except… Sam had seen Gabriel fall. Caught up in his mother’s injuries and Dean’s grief over Cas, Sam had forgotten that the archangel who had come to their aid and risked everything to stand against his family was lying in that crater back there.

 

But he was an archangel. Sure, he had been fighting Michael, but maybe he was okay. Maybe Michael hadn’t killed him for his betrayal.

 

Filled with a mixture of dread and desperate hope, Sam scrambled over the slippery ground and up the crusted edges of the crater. He peered down into the hole, afraid he would see a broken body and the ashes of wings.

 

But the crater was empty.

 

“Gabriel?” Sam called. “Gabriel!”

 

There was no reply.

 

Did archangels leave the same remains that ordinary angels did when they died? Or had Gabriel’s power imploded on impact, vaporising him instantly?

 

Sam was crushed. It was his fault the archangel had come here. If Gabriel was dead, he had died in a fight he had wanted no part of. Sam had dragged him into this.

 

He knew it was selfish, but while he grieved for the angel he was even more upset that his one hope for Cas was gone. He had felt sure that Gabriel could help. Without him, Sam was afraid Cas was lost to them for good. Which meant that Dean was lost to them, maybe for good as well.

 

“Gabriel, please,” he whispered.

 

Someone poked him in the ribs, making him jump.

 

“Behind you, little guy.”

 

Sam whirled. The archangel was there, as large as life, grinning mischievously.

 

He booped Sam on the nose. “Gotcha.”

 

Sam slapped his arm. “You ass! Now is not the time for games.”

 

“I’m the Trickster!”

 

“I thought you were dead!”

 

“Yeah, I have a knack for faking my own death. Had to make it convincing for Michael, you know? He was going in for the kill and if I hadn’t taken the swan dive he would have atomised me.”

 

“You saved your own hide.”

 

“It’s my hide, I have a right to it.”

 

“Fine, okay, I’m glad you’re not dead after all. But we’ve had some casualties…”

 

Gabriel looked out over the car yard and took in the sight of Dad cradling Mom in his arms, waiting for Bobby to bring the car around.

 

“Oh, it’s just a concussion and a few broken bones. Easy fix.” He flitted away, appeared at Dad’s side and pressed two fingers against Mom’s forehead. She heaved a deep breath and as Dad was crying out in relief and happiness Gabriel popped back to Sam. “There, all better.”

 

Sam breathed a little easier. “Thank you.”

 

Gabriel tapped a finger on the top of Sam’s head, too. “Fixed up all those little scrapes and bruises for you. Left the sigil, though.”

 

Sam looked down at his arm. He hadn’t noticed it before, but where he had cut his arm to draw blood for the spell an exact replica of the sigil had been branded into his skin.

 

“What-”

 

“I have one too,” Gabriel said, showing off his own mark. “Your whole family will have one, and it will be passed down through future generations. It is part of the spell. See, this here is the common banishing sigil.” He traced it. “These two lines here, intersecting with the triangle at the top and the circle at the centre, act as a lock that makes the spell permanent. It is powered by your blood and broadcasts constantly, so any angel other than me who tries to come within 20 miles of you guys will be bounced straight back home. These extra symbols on either side are Michael and Lucifer’s names in Enochian, making the spell target them in particular so they have to stay put in Heaven and Hell, respectively. It’s pretty clever, actually-”

 

“That’s great,” Sam interrupted. It was good to know another angel attack was not imminent and that their family would be free from angels intending them harm. “But at the moment I’m more concerned about Cas.”

 

Gabriel waved it off. “Becoming human is an adjustment. He’ll be okay in a day or so.”

 

“He didn’t just lose his Grace, Gabriel. He’s dead.”

 

The archangel stilled. “What?”

 

“I’m sorry-”

 

“No! No way is my baby brother dying on my watch! He’s only just found his chance at true happiness, I’m not going to let him screw that up now.”

 

Sam’s eyes widened. “You mean you can heal him? Bring him back?”

 

“I may not look, sound or act like one, but I _am_ an archangel,” Gabriel huffed. “Come on, kid.”

 

In the blink of an eye they were standing next to their brothers.

 

Dean barely even noticed them. He was lost in his grief.

 

“Dean-” Sam tried, but Gabriel shushed him. Without disturbing Dean, the archangel crouched down and laid his hand against Castiel’s forehead. He drew in a breath and closed his eyes.

 

A pure, white light glowed beneath his palm.

 

Sam watched in awe as the spilled blood withdrew and the wound on Castiel’s throat closed over. When he was done there wasn’t even a trace of a scar. The light held for a few seconds longer, and Castiel’s lips parted to draw in a deep, slow breath.

 

Dean felt the movement of his chest and sat bolt upright. He clutched at Castiel’s shoulders, staring hopefully into his face. “Cas?”

 

Cas groaned and stirred faintly.

 

“Cas!”

 

Blue eyes flickered open. He blinked blearily.

 

“D-Dean?”

 

Tears sprung to Dean’s eyes. “Cas!” He pulled the angel up into his arms, ignoring the grunt of surprise, and proceeded to hug the stuffing out of him. “Oh god, you crazy son of a bitch. You stupid, wonderful, idiotic, beautiful, angelic human being you. Don’t do that to me, don’t ever do that to me again.”

 

“Mff, Dean-”

 

“Just hug him back,” Gabriel advised.

 

So Cas did, and Dean burst into tears.

 

“Dean, this is supposed to make you happy,” Sam protested.

 

“I believe these are what humans call ‘happy tears’,” Gabriel said.

 

“Yeah I’m happy,” Dean said roughly. He drew in a steadying breath and pulled back a bit. A beam split his face as he gazed into blue eyes. “Hello, Cas.”

 

“Hello, Dean.”

 

Gabriel looked at Sam and smirked. “Now see, you’re doing it too.”

 

Sam swiped at the tears on his cheeks and slapped Gabriel’s arm again, but only half-heartedly this time. “Shut up.”

 

ooOOoo


	32. Chapter 32

 

Blood magic ripped through the very fabric of reality. It unceremoniously deposited an archangel in one of billions of Heavens; in particular, the perpetual Tuesday afternoon of an autistic man.

 

Dazed and confused, Michael stared up uncomprehendingly at the kite floating in the blue sky above his heads.

 

It took him a while to remember what had happened, but when he recalled the events that had led him here rage began to bubble up within him. Gabriel had _betrayed_ him. He had sided with the humans, fought against Heaven and given the Winchesters the key to destroying everything Michael had worked so hard for. Even worse - Dean Winchester, Michael’s rightful sword and vessel, had _refused_ him.

 

Destiny had been eradicated. Michael would never have closure regarding his conflict with Lucifer. There would never be Paradise on Earth. Everything was ruined, and Michael was _trapped_ here.

 

Michael flared his wings wide and heaved his body off the ground. His lion head roared with fury and deadly intent. The humans may have won the battle, but the war was not over yet. Maybe his armies could not touch the Winchesters directly, but he could send them to burn the world to ashes around their ears. If he had been allowed to fight Lucifer he might have spared some of the more hapless humans, but now he would not rest until the oceans ran red with blood. The humans would pay for their insolence. The taint of ‘free will’ would be purged. Dean wanted to save the world, but he would live only to see his actions result in planetary annihilation. Then the air would turn to poison and Dean would choke to death and when his soul turned up in Heaven Michael would have his revenge.

 

He stalked towards the path through the woods that would lead him to the Garden. From there he would send out a call to every angel in Heaven and command them to begin the Apocalypse.

 

“Michael!”

 

He froze. It couldn’t be.

 

He turned slowly, not believing.

 

“You cannot be here,” he said to the ghost. “You’re dead. Twice over.”

 

The apparition nodded. “I was. And so was he. But Gabriel brought him back.”

 

“Gabriel-” He was supposed to be dead too, but this wouldn’t be the first time he had created the illusion of his death to escape his responsibility to his family. “He raised you both?”

 

“Not I.”

 

“Then how are you alive?”

 

The angel Castiel just looked at him. “I think you already know the answer to that question.”

 

“No. He’s gone. He _left_ us. What possible reason would He have for interfering now, after all this time?”

 

“You threatened His creation.”

 

“I did what He asked of me! I have only _ever_ done what He asked of me. I am a good and loyal son.”

 

Castiel shook his head. “You have lost your way, brother.”

 

“What right do you have to pass judgement on me? I am an archangel and you are nothing but a lowly seraph!”

 

“I was brought back for a reason.”

 

“I do not care. I will not be lectured like a child by a younger brother barely grown out of his training wings. I am the regent of Heaven!”

 

“Under your rule Heaven has been led astray.”

 

“I am leading us towards eternal peace in Paradise!”

 

“You were going to destroy our Father’s children.”

 

“ _We_ are His children!”

 

“We are His soldiers. He created us to worship Him and to serve Him. He does not love us, not like He loves them. The humans are His most beloved creation and He entrusted them to our care. Hurting them will not earn you His affections.”

 

“When they are all dead and gone there will be nothing left to distract Him from us. He will return and our family will be whole again.”

 

“So this is not about following God’s plan after all. This is about you craving the attention of our absent Father. But we were never enough for Him, and we never will be. He wants more than mindless obedience and manufactured love. He wants people, with all their chaos and irrationality and disbelief and poor choices, because when they _do_ choose Him it means so much more.”

 

“I have spent millennia trying to please Him, trying to be the perfect son. How can He love those foolish, imperfect, irreverent, overgrown _apes_ more than us – more than _me_? It is not fair!”

 

“What are you going to do? Throw a temper tantrum as Lucifer did? Take your insecurities and feelings of inadequacy out on the innocents of Earth?”

 

“They _stole_ our Father.”

 

“He chose them.”

 

The truth struck Michael at last. God had abandoned them. He did not care. No matter what Michael did, it would never be good enough. His father would never love him.

 

Suddenly, Michael understood why Lucifer had rebelled. He had started a good work when he corrupted the humans, doing his best to ensure as many as possible would be expelled from God’s presence. But God chased after them. Michael understood, now, why Lucifer wanted to wipe every last human off the face of the Earth. And if Lucifer could not do it, Michael would. He glared at the seraph, his every word laden with bitter fury. “Then God will watch them _burn_.”

 

Michael screamed out to the Heavens, screamed for the angels to rally before him.

 

As they began to appear, one, then two, then dozens, then hundreds, then thousands, Michael began a rousing speech to sweep them up into his tempest of bloodlust. But as his final words rang out, there was silence. The angels stared at him in shock.

 

“Our duty is to the humans,” Castiel said simply.

 

At the sight of him, murmurs swept through the crowd. The angel Balthazar stepped forward. “Castiel? You’re alive?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“How?”

 

“I do not know for certain, but I believe God raised me.”

 

“You’re his chosen,” breathed Hannah.

 

“Tell us, Castiel, what does our Father want from us?” Rachel called out.

 

“He gave us our mission long ago,” Castiel said. “Protect and serve the humans.”

 

Michael saw many heads nodding.

 

“No!” he yelled. “You obey my orders now!”

 

Castiel stared levelly at him. “You were never meant to be a leader, Michael. It is not in your programming, and it is clear that the burden has been too great for you to bear.”

 

“Then there is no angel fit to lead!”

 

Balthazar scratched the back of his head. “I dunno. Castiel here has always been a bit of an oddball. He was never very good at following orders, but he flourished as the commander of our Garrison. He knows how to think independently, how to act under pressure, how to lead by example. And I know of no other angel who has taken God’s commandment to love the humans to heart the way Castiel has. He’s genuine, and honest, and he seems to know what he’s doing. I’d follow him.”

 

“As would I.”

 

“And I.”

 

“And I.”

 

The responses filtered through the crowd. Castiel’s garrison was the first to stand behind him, but soon all but a scattering of angels had flocked to Castiel’s side.

 

Michael was outnumbered. Even with Raphael and a half dozen angels backing him up, he did not have the power to match the might of Heaven.

 

“I am sorry, Michael,” Castiel said. “But it is time to talk about a regime change.”

 

ooOOoo


	33. Chapter 33

Dean didn’t want to let Cas go, and Cas was making no effort to remove himself from Dean’s embrace.

 

Dean needed this. He was still reeling from the turmoil of _fear-terror-fight-surrender-guilt-shock-grief-hope-relief-joy-happy,_ and that was all just from the past hour. Truth be told, he was still messed up from the events of the past month (give or take five years). Cas had been injured, Dean’s school had turned hostile, he had found out about his mother’s deception, his father had kicked him out of home, Sam had been killed in a car accident, Cas had vanished, Dean had made a demon deal, he had been ripped to pieces by a hellhound, he had gone to _Hell_ , he had given up, he had gotten off the rack, he had butchered Alastair, he had killed Azazel, they had fought Heaven, and he had lost Cas. Somewhere before all of that crap he had been a normal teenage boy, relatively speaking. Everything was different now. He was different.

 

After everything he had been through it was surprising that Dean had not been sent howling to the nuthouse. He still felt brittle, like he could break apart any second, but Cas was here and Cas was alive and somehow that was enough to hold him together.

 

In the arms of his angel, Dean slowly began to settle. He soaked in the comfort his best friend offered and the tempest of his emotions gradually calmed.

 

They were going to be okay.

 

Finally at peace, Dean was able to pull back. He coughed a little and said, “I’m glad you’re alright.” The simple words did not even begin to cover what he felt, but he knew Cas understood.

 

With renewed strength, Dean stood to his feet and gave Cas a hand up.

 

Cas brushed at his clothes, frowning at the muddy, sodden mess. “I’m dirty,” he said.

 

Gabriel snorted a laugh. “Yeah you are, baby bro. No magicking yourself clean anymore.”

 

“Couldn’t you?” Sam asked.

 

“Now where’s the fun in that? Besides, nice hot showers are one of the better experiences humanity has to offer.”

 

A cold wind blew and sight shivers ran through Cas. “This i-i-is a st-strange sensation,” he said, teeth chattering.

 

“You’re cold,” Dean realised. “Hot shower it is, then. Come on, let’s get you inside and cleaned up. You too, Sammy.”

 

Dean started to herd Cas and Sam back to the house, but he glanced back at the archangel. “Thankyou, Gabriel. For Cas, and my mom, and – well, everything.” If Gabriel had not turned up when he did with the spell that would save them, at best Dean would be dead and at worst Dean would be an angel condom watching the world burn at his hand.

 

“One time only deal, you hear me? I’m retired from all of this angel business.”

 

“Does that mean we’re not going to see you again?” Sam asked.

 

Gabriel softened at the sad expression on Sam’s face. “Nah, I’ll be around, if only to bring a little mischief and mayhem into your lives. I am the Trickster, after all.” He snapped his fingers and vanished.

 

Sam sighed, shoulders hunched. “Bye Gabriel.”

 

The angel popped back again, making them all jump. “One more thing!” He levelled a finger at Dean. “You take good care of my little brother. And yours.”

 

“I will,” Dean promised, though he was sure that they would be looking after him just as much. But then, that was what family was for.

 

Gabriel nodded, and looked to Sam. He flipped a casual two-fingered salute and winked at him. “See ya later, Sammy.”

 

He vanished again, but this time Sam had a small smile twitching at his lips. Dean had no doubt that they’d be seeing the troublemaker again.

 

“Let’s get out of this night air before we all freeze, huh?” Dean said, snagging Castiel’s sleeve and giving Sam a nudge to get him moving.

 

Inside, Dad already had a fire roaring in Bobby’s fireplace and Mom bundled up in half a dozen blankets even though she was insisting that she was fine. At the sight of them, Mom shrugged out of the mound of fabric and swept her two sons into a hug.

 

“’s alright, Mom, we’re safe now,” Dean said.

 

“Thank god.”

 

Dean thought she was going to let them go but before she could Dad was engulfing all of them in his arms and squeezing tight. “We made it,” he said gruffly. “It was touch and go for a while there, but we won. You did good, Dean. I’m so proud of you.”

 

Dean felt warmth kindle in his chest. Hearing those words from his father meant a lot to him.

 

“We’re really racking up the chick flick moments lately,” Sam quipped. The family separated. Dad went to help Bobby with the clean-up operation outside while Mary bustled off to the kitchen to make everyone hot cocoa. Sam settled in front of the fire to dry off a bit, graciously allowing Cas to have the first shower “Since you’ve never had one before.”

 

Dean helped Cas shrug out of his trench coat and got the water running for him at the perfect temperature, giving him a basic run down on soap and shampoo before leaving him to it. He dug through Dad’s clothes to find some that Cas could wear until his clothes were washed, though Dean knew a trip to the shopping mall would have to feature sometime in the future. He couldn’t wear the same outfit every day now that he was human.

 

Human. It was a strange concept. Cas had always been Dean’s angel and in a way he still was, wings or not. But he wasn’t an all-powerful celestial being anymore and that would take a lot of getting used to. Dean tried to think of all the things Cas would need to do and learn now that he was human and it was an overwhelming list. But there were also a lot of things that Dean couldn’t wait to show him.

 

Cas emerged from the bathroom wearing jeans and a plaid shirt that were too big for him, with the buttons mismatched and his hair sticking out in all directions. Dean smirked fondly and ruffled his hair just like he would with Sammy, except he smoothed it into place after. “Looking good, dude.”

 

“I feel a little ridiculous,” Cas confessed.

 

Dean chuckled. He fixed the buttons of his shirt for him and folded up the sleeves so Cas could use his hands. “We’ll fix you up with some better fitting clothes soon,” he assured him. “Go and try some of my mom’s cocoa. I’ll be out in a sec.”

 

Dean stripped off his filthy clothes and luxuriated in the hot spray of the shower, feeling infinitely better as he watched the mud and grime and blood wash down the drain. Fifteen minutes later, feeling refreshed and relaxed, he dried off and slipped into a pair of his most comfortable sweat pants and an old band t-shirt. He padded out into the hallway and called to Sam that the shower was free.

 

“Took you long enough,” Sam griped as he stomped up the stairs, but at the sight of Dean he smiled a little and said, “You look better.”

 

“I feel better,” Dean agreed. “Go on, still some hot water left.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

Dean joined Cas and his mom in the kitchen. Cas was sipping on a cup of cocoa, closing his eyes and letting out a small moan of appreciation with each mouthful.

 

Dean raised his eyebrows.

 

“I think he likes cocoa,” Mom grinned. “He burned his tongue on the first sip, but he got the hang of it in the end.”

 

Dean smiled and mentally crossed cocoa off the list of human experiences he wanted Cas to try. “Mom makes the best cocoa.”

 

“Indeed,” Cas rumbled.

 

Dean accepted his own cup and cradled it in his hands, soaking in the warmth before blowing gently on the steam and taking a careful sip. It wasn’t long before the rest of his family joined them.

 

Looking around at the people who meant the world to him, Dean was overwhelmed with gratitude that they had all made it out of this mess alive. For a while there he had doubted that his other self had done the right thing when he went back and changed history, but Mom was alive, Sammy had the chance to be a fairly normal kid (death and resurrection notwithstanding), the world hadn’t ended and Dean had grown up with an angel for a best friend. It wasn’t the perfect, ideal life, but it was Dean’s life and he was happy.

 

“So what now?” Sam asked.

 

It was a good question. “I dunno. What do you wanna do, Sammy?”

 

Sam shrugged. “Well, I think I’ve had enough adventure to last me a while. I kinda miss school, to be honest.”

 

Dean smirked. “Nerd.”

 

“Geek,” Sam shot back.

 

“I’m not a geek.”

 

“Says the guy who dresses up like batman every Halloween and knows every line from the Star Wars movies.”

 

Sam had a point there, though Dean would never admit it.

 

“Guess you’ll be heading back to Lawrence, then.”

 

“Guess so. What about you?”

 

Dean looked to his parents.

 

“What do you want to do, Dean?” Dad asked. He was giving Dean the choice.

 

Dean thought about it. He did miss home, but he couldn’t help but feel that small town living in Lawrence, Kansas was a part of his past now. He wanted to know what the future held for him.

 

Cas would need help adjusting to life as a human. Bobby could use some company around here. And Dean was still having dreams about people in trouble; people who needed his help.

 

Dean was a hunter. He might need some time to get back into the swing of things, but hunting was what he had always wanted to do – what he was always _meant_ to do.

 

“I’m gonna be a hunter,” Dean said.

 

Sadness flashed across Mom’s face for a second, but she found it within herself to offer a faint smile. “Your grandparents would be proud of you for carrying on the family business, Dean. I know you are going to help a lot of people.”

 

“You’re not angry?”

 

“No. You’re your own man now. It’s your choice to make. I’m going to miss you, and you’re going to have to call me regularly to let me know how you are, but as long as you promise to be careful… I think I can be okay with this.”

 

“Me too,” Dad said. “And if you ever need help, don’t be afraid to call us. I think your Mom and I would make some pretty badass hunters ourselves.”

 

Dean smiled. “I don’t doubt it.”

 

“Make sure you visit us lots,” Sam said.

 

Dean reached out to ruffle his hair. “’Course I will, runt. Someone needs to keep you outta trouble.” He looked to Bobby. “You cool if I stay here?”

 

“I’d love to have you, son,” Bobby assured him.

 

Finally, Dean looked over to his angel. “So, Cas, whaddya say? You with me?”

 

Cas smiled at him. “Always.”

 

ooOOoo

 

The End


	34. Epilogue

 

_May 2 nd 1995_

Nearly two months had gone by since Dean and Cas officially moved in with Bobby. Most of that time had been spent training and doing research, which gave Cas the chance to gain his sea legs and Dean the chance to clear away a few of the lingering cobwebs in his head. They were both doing better; Cas had stopped tripping over his own feet and had learned the limits of his human strength, building up a new fighting style to accommodate his lack of Grace, and while Dean still had the occasional flashback to his time in Hell he was beginning to feel like he could function as a human being again. They were still adjusting, but dedicating themselves to their work definitely helped.

 

Once he was confident that they could handle their own, Bobby had taken them along with him on a couple of hunts. They worked well as a team and it wouldn’t be long before Dean and Cas would be able to handle cases on their own.

 

It wasn’t a monster, however, that had Dean and Cas rolling down the I-29 highway in one of Bobby’s rusty old pick-up trucks. It was Sam’s birthday today and Dean wouldn’t miss it for the world. He had even woken up at a horrendously early hour of the morning so they would arrive at a decent time.

 

Lawrence looked much the same as he had left it, but it felt different. Dean supposed it was because this wasn’t his home anymore. His world was one of monsters and adventure; in comparison, everything around here seemed so ordinary and peaceful. He was glad, because for him hunting was first and foremost about keeping his family safe. He wanted them to be able to live normal lives.

 

As he turned into their street Dean felt excitement bubble up within him. He couldn’t wait to see his family again.

 

They pulled into the driveway and climbed out of the car. Cas stretched out his muscles, still not quite used to travelling in the confined quarters of a motor vehicle. One of these days Dean was going to arrange for Cas to have a joyride in a small plane so he could feel the sensation of flying again because he knew the ex-angel missed his wings. There was no way that Dean was risking his own life in one of those contraptions though. Give him a car over a plane any day.

 

Dean slung his duffle bag over his shoulder before making his way up to the front porch. He rang the doorbell. Three seconds later the door had been ripped open and Dean was nearly barrelled over by Sam throwing himself into his arms.

 

“DEAN!”

 

Dean staggered back but caught him and hugged the kid tight. “Heya Sammy.”

 

Sam beamed up at him. “You came!”

 

“I said I would, didn’t I?”

 

Sam squeezed him tighter and nodded against his chest. “I missed you,” he mumbled.

 

Dean rubbed his knuckles on the top of his brother’s head, mussing up his hair. “You too, kiddo.”

 

“Oi!” Sam complained, pulling away from him with a mock-scowl and attempting to fix his hair. “You’re still as annoying as ever.”

 

“And you’re still a runt. How old are you now?”

 

“Twelve.”

 

Dean frowned at him. “Are you sure? I thought you’ve been twelve for at least six months now.”

 

“Noo… You’re 4 years, 3 months and 8 days older than me. You turned 16 this year, I’m turning 12.”

 

Dean scratched his head. “Huh. No wonder you’re still a midget.”

 

Sam glared at him. “Just you wait. I bet that when I hit my growth spurt I’ll grow taller than you.”

 

Dean laughed. “Keep dreaming, little brother.”

 

“Is that Dean?” Dad called.

 

“And Cas!” Dean called back.

 

“Well get your asses in here to say hi to your folks!”

 

Dean grinned and dragged Cas in behind him as they entered the house. When they stepped into the lounge room, though, Dean stopped dead in his tracks and stared with wide eyes.

 

A huge banner was spread across the room that said “HAPPY BIRTHDAY SAM & DEAN.”

 

“What?”

 

Sam bounced up and down beside him, grinning from ear to ear. “Surprise!”

 

“But – why?”

 

“Your birthday sucked this year,” Sam said. He wasn’t wrong. January 24th was the day that Dean had received the call about Sam’s car accident and had sold his soul to bring him back. It was probably about the worst birthday a person could have. “16 is supposed to be a big deal but everything got screwed up, so we thought we’d give it another shot.”

 

“But this is _your_ birthday.”

 

Sam shrugged. “Yeah, but you’re my brother. I don’t mind sharing.”

 

Dean didn’t know what to say.

 

“Happy birthday, boys,” Mom and Dad said.

 

“Happy birthday, Dean!” Sam chirped.

 

“Happy birthday, Sam,” Dean replied, still a little shell shocked.

 

The family shared hugs and caught up on what had happened over the past couple of months. Sam had caught up at school and was already top of his class again – no surprises there. Dad’s mechanic business was roaring again, and Mom was volunteering at the local hospital. Dean shared some of their hunting stories that had Sam wide-eyed with awe at how cool his super-hero brother was. Dean was heart-warmed when his parents asked Cas how he was adjusting to human life, genuinely taking an interest in him and treating him like one of the family. Based on Cas’s shy smile, he appreciated it too.

 

“Present time!” Sam exclaimed.

 

Most of Sam’s presents were books. Cas had gone to the effort of translating and transcribing an ancient text from memory, the last copy of which had burned down in the Library of Alexandria. Sam was stunned, and ran his fingers carefully over the spine of the book, promising he would treasure it forever. Dean had been collecting souvenirs for Sam from each of the places he had visited while road tripping across the USA and told Sam he’d keep sending them to add to the collection.

 

If anything, though, Sam seemed the most excited about _Dean’s_ presents. He disappeared off to his room for a few minutes and then came back lugging Dean’s old duffle bag.

 

“It took us a while to extract this from the wreckage, but we got it.”

 

Dean undid the zip and found all of his old belongings – clothes, music, photos – and a small wrapped package. He opened it to reveal an amulet strung on a leather thong.

 

“I didn’t even know about the supernatural stuff when I bought this, but it definitely suits you,” Sam said.

 

“Thanks, Sammy.” Dean slipped it over his head. It was a small, comfortable weight against his chest, and Dean knew that whenever he looked at it he would remember how much his little brother loved him. “I love it.”

 

Mom’s gift to him was a beautiful, leather-bound hunter’s journal with the letters “D.W” inscribed on the inside cover. “Every hunter needs one,” she told him.

 

Dean read the unspoken apology behind the gift for the time Dad had destroyed his journal while Mom stood back and watched, as well as the acceptance for who he was now. “Thanks.”

 

“And now for the biggest and bestest present of all,” Sammy said.

 

Dean raised his eyebrows.

 

Sam snagged his sleeve and dragged him outside to the garage, letting the rest of the family follow behind them.

 

“Dad?” Sam said.

 

Dad pressed a button to activate the automatic roller door. There was a groan of metal, the rattle of gears, and the door slowly opened. Light spilled into the garage, glinting off sleek black metal.

 

“No way,” Dean breathed.

 

There, in all her glory, was the Impala. Dean’s Baby. She gleamed in the sunlight, looking as shiny and new ad perfect as she must have the day she rolled off the production line.

 

But Sam had crashed her into a tree. The accident had been severe enough to kill Sam; Dean had assumed his Baby was a write-off, and as much as he loved her his grief over Sam had overshadowed her loss. Driving around in old rust-buckets for the past couple of months had reminded Dean of how much he missed her, though.

 

“How…?”

 

“After the accident I had her towed back here,” Dad said. “I’ve been working on her ever since we got home.”

 

“She’s _beautiful_.”

 

“Yes she is,” Dad agreed. “And she’s all yours.”

 

Dean stared at his dad with wide eyes. “Are you serious?”

 

Dad chuckled. “Yeah, I’m serious.” He tossed Dean the keys and he caught them out of reflex, but he still could hardly believe it. This was a dream come true.

 

“I don’t – wow, I mean – this is – I can’t even – uh-”

 

Dad grinned and clapped him on the back. “You’re welcome, son.”

 

“ _Thank you_ ,” he gushed.

 

“Take good care of her.”

 

“I will!”

 

“This is what she was meant for, I reckon. She did her duty putting up with baby seats and grocery runs, but she’d make a badass hunter. In fact, I took the liberty of decking out the trunk with a full weapons kit based on what Mary’s told me about hunting.”

 

Dean popped the trunk and, after a moment of confusion, pulled up the false bottom. Dad reached in and propped it up with a shotgun. Dean gazed in amazement at the array of guns, knives, holy water, salt bags, stakes and other weaponry.

 

“Pretty cool, huh?” Dad asked.

 

“Dad, this is _incredible_ ,” Dean stressed.

 

“Thought you’d like it. How ‘bout a test drive? We were thinking of going out for burgers for dinner.”

 

“And pie for dessert?”

 

“Of course,” Mom said.

 

Dean grinned and scrambled around to the front of the car to climb into the front seat. Cas took the passenger side and Sam squeezed in between them as Mom and Dad got settled in the back.

 

The joint celebration turned out to be the best birthday Dean had ever had.

 

They stayed in Lawrence for a week. Dean was reluctant to say goodbye, but when he got a call from Bobby about a Wendigo situation up in the northern woods of Minnesota he felt the familiar stirrings of excitement in his gut. He was a hunter, born and bred, and he was eager to get back out there doing what he did best.

 

He hugged his family and renewed his promises to be careful and visit again soon.

 

Dean settled behind the wheel of his baby, and Cas rode shot gun.

 

With the familiar scent of leather seats, the purr of the Impala’s engine and miles of asphalt stretching out before them, Dean felt that he was home at last.

 

Ready to face the world together, saving people and hunting things, the hunter and his angel drove off into the sunset.

 

ooOOoo

 

**The End**

_(for real this time)_


End file.
